


Erasure

by grumblesandmumbles



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Memory Erasure, Memory Loss, Shameless Big Bang, eternal sunshine au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:23:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 37,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8894068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblesandmumbles/pseuds/grumblesandmumbles
Summary: You can erase the words from the page, wipe the slate clean and start again. You can write pages upon pages of a story and undo it with the flick of your wrist. But those words are never really gone; they leave behind marks, residue, and try as you might, there’s always an impression.But what if you try to erase a person instead?You can try… you can try so fucking hard, but you can’t erase the imprint someone leaves on your heart.(Canon compliant through 5x12)





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> Time and perspective jumps through part one, should be clear enough to follow, but be mindful.

Mickey’s feet pounded against the floor as he ran through the alley behind North Wallace Street. His chest burned with exertion, but he didn’t dare stop moving. He wasn’t about to let that bitch Sammi put a bullet in him. Mickey could hear a commotion behind him, sirens wailing, voices shouting, and still he ran. It wasn’t until a cop car appeared in front of him and cut off his path that he came grinding to a halt. The new officers on the scene, unsure of who exactly was who in this situation, sprang from their vehicle with their guns pointed squarely at Mickey’s chest.

He threw his hands up in the air. “Don’t shoot! I didn’t do nothin’!”

One of the officers moved towards him swiftly, holstering her gun and grabbing her handcuffs. She yanked Mickey’s hands out of the air and cuffed them behind his back without a word. With a nudge, she steered Mickey back in the direction he had come from, towards Sammi and the other two officers. Sammi was putting up a fight as they disarmed and arrested her.

“Why am I in fuckin’ cuffs?” Mickey huffed. “This bitch is the one who was shootin’ up the place. She came after me, I just ran.”

“You tried to kill me!” Sammi screamed, trying to shake the cops off of her.

“Bitch, I didn’t do shit to you!” He yelled back in response.

She snarled and tried one more time to throw her weight. But it was no use, and the officers maneuvered her into the backseat of their squad car. She continued shouting, but once they shut the door it wasn’t much more than muffled noise. All of the officers gathered loosely around Mickey. The one who had handcuffed him addressed him.

“You want to tell us what that was about?”

“I’d love to, if I had any idea,” Mickey retorted. “Bitch came after me with a gun, I wasn’t interested in her motives, I fuckin’ ran.” He motioned his head towards the original two that had pursued them. “Ask them, I didn’t go after her, I just ran from her. I got nothin’ on me, you can search me.”

The same officer briefly patted Mickey down while the other confirmed that he hadn’t been doing anything. Apparently satisfied, she removed Mickey’s cuffs.

“Any speculation at all why she would want to shoot you in broad daylight?”

Mickey shrugged, trying his best to appear confused but convincing. “She’s a whack job, man. I don’t know why she does anything.”

“But you do know her.” It was a statement, not a question, but Mickey answered it anyway.

“I mean, barely. She’s my ex’s long lost half-sister, they haven’t even known about her very long.” Mickey felt a lump in his throat at the word ‘ex’. The idea made him want to throw up. But he couldn’t focus on that right now. “She did try to get with me at a bar once. I turned her down. Don’t know if that would be it.”

A different officer chimed in then. “She’s kind of a hot little number. You turned that down? Must have been loyal to that ex of yours.”

Mickey burst out with a snarky response before he could stop himself. “Well, maybe if she’d had a dick like her brother, it would be a different story.”

The cop made a face in understanding, and the rest of them shifted uncomfortably. After an awkwardly long pause, they finally waved him away. The last thing Mickey heard was Sammi’s furious yelling as the cops opened the door to get back into their squad car and backed down the alley away from him. He watched the other officers walk back to their own car, and when they were all out of sight, he turned around and walked home.

\----------

Ian trudged his way slowly across the college campus towards Lip’s dorm. The wind was biting, and he pulled his coat closer around his neck. Winter was in full effect, a fact which had completely slipped Ian’s mind. He could have kicked himself for forgetting about a scarf on a day like this. Ian had been forgetting quite a few things lately, but he refused to acknowledge that his diagnosis could have anything to do with it. Hell, he refused to acknowledge his diagnosis at all.

When he finally got to the building, he pulled out the key card that Lip had given him and let himself in. Ian wasn’t exactly living at the dorms, but he definitely spent time there when he needed to get away from their house and the rest of his siblings, which wound up being at least a couple of times a week. As he made his way up the stairs, a bright orange paper on the bulletin board caught his eye and he stepped closer to read it.

**LOOKING FOR A CLEAN SLATE?**

**TO RID YOURSELF OF UNWANTED MEMORIES?**

**MEMORY ERASURE CLINICAL TRIAL**

**SPONSORED BY THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO**

**CALL FOR MORE INFORMATION**

**312-555-3840**

Ian pulled his cell phone from his pocket and took the number down, not thinking about why exactly he might want it. The possibilities were endless, really. He continued up the stairs until he got to the third floor and made his way down the hall to Lip’s room. Ian knocked lightly and heard Lip’s muffled reply to come in. He opened the door and was greeted by the sight of Lip, sprawled out across his bed with an array of books and papers, joint perched in his mouth. As Ian entered, Lip took a puff and offered it to Ian.

He reached for it gratefully and took a couple of hits back to back. Lately, Ian had been feeling skittish and unsettled. His breakup with Mickey had been, in part at least, because he couldn’t stand that feeling that he was being observed all the time. That feeling that Mickey was waiting for him to do something stupid, that he needed a babysitter. Ian had thought that a breakup would alleviate some of that, but a couple of months had passed and instead, he noticed that his brothers and sisters paid more attention to him than ever. Hell, if Ian was honest with himself in the months gone by, he would admit that even he wondered what he could or would do without Mickey there to stop him.

Logically, Ian knew that he could have tried the pills he was prescribed, just to see if they might help. But, in his mind, that would be the same as admitting that he had this disorder, and Ian just wasn’t there yet. So instead, he enjoyed the warm buzz he felt as the pot worked through his system, relaxing him for the first time in days. There was a spare bed in the room and Ian shrugged his coat off so that he could lay down on it. He could feel Lip’s eyes on him, but thankfully, there were no questions or assessments today. Once Ian didn’t engage him further, Lip went back to his studies and Ian dozed.

When Ian opened his eyes, Lip was standing over him with mild concern on his face.

“You must have been real tired, you were knocked the fuck out.” Lip observed.

Ian leaned up on his elbow, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “How long was I asleep?”

Lip snorted and replied, “All night, dude. I gotta run or I’m going to be late for class. Left my meal card on the desk if you wanna grab a bite before you head out.”

“Nah, take it,” Ian told him. “I’ll get something at Patsy’s before my shift.”

Lip nodded and took the card back, slipping it in his wallet and clapping Ian on the shoulder on his way out the door. “Later, bro.”

Ian finally sat all the way up and dug his phone out from his jeans pocket to check the time. He unlocked the screen and stared at the last number he had entered. Before he could think too hard about it, he dialed.

A clipped, professional voice came over the line. “University of Chicago, Neuroscience.”

Ian was at a loss for how to start this conversation. “Uh, yes hi. I saw your flyer on campus. For the, uh, memory erasing. I’d like some more information.”

The voice brightened, but only minimally. “Of course, sir. It’s a clinical trial, so there would be a protocol you’d have to go through to find out if you would qualify before we can guarantee anything. First, you’ll have to come in for an appointment, and we can give you more information about the program in general and how the trial works. You’ll also need to give us permission to access your medical records. Would you like to schedule that now?”

Ian hadn’t expected it to be that simple, and he stammered his response. “Oh, um sure.”

They arranged a time for Ian to come in, and as Ian was about to hang up the phone, he heard one more question come through the line. “Do you know who or what it is that you’d like to erase from your memory?”

Ian paused for a long moment. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, I do.”

\----------

Fiona cast a glance at Ian out of the corner of her eye, concern washing over her at the sight. Her brother looked haggard. She didn't know if it was the bipolar disorder, his breakup with Mickey, or some combination of the two. Heaven forbid he would talk to her or anyone about whatever was on his mind. She felt the frown settling in on her face and made a conscious effort to do away with it.

“Hey Sweetie,” she greeted him, imparting a bit of false cheer in her voice. “Missed ya at dinner last night. You go out or somethin’?”

Ian looked up at her, shaking his head. “Nah, just crashed with Lip.”

Fiona felt herself relax a bit. “Oh good, that's good!”

She couldn't help but watch her brother as he grabbed the plastic bin and washcloth and went about clearing tables. If Fiona were more diplomatic, she would say that her brother looked stressed and tired. But frankly, she thought he looked like shit, a shell of who she had raised all these years. Fiona desperately wished he would talk to her, but she knew that trying to pull it out of him only had the opposite effect. And so she stayed back, watching Ian out of the corner of her eye as he moved plates into the bin, swiped the tabletops, brought everything to the kitchen and returned again.

Ian knew what she was doing. He could feel Fiona’s eyes burning into him, his skin flushed with the unwanted attention. When it was time for his break, he parked himself at the counter, as far on the opposite end from her as he could get, and pulled his phone from his pocket. Ian distracted himself with a game until he saw a piece of apple pie and a cup of coffee sneak its way under his nose. He looked up and saw Fiona’s warm but worried smile.

“Little snack for ya, keep that energy up.” She said.

He accepted the offering, using the fork Fiona brought to push some of the filling out of the pie. He much preferred the crust, so he picked at that and sipped the coffee. Ian could feel guilt rolling over him in waves. He knew that he hadn’t always been fair to Fiona. All she was guilty of as far as he was concerned was caring about him. It wasn’t her fault that the scrutiny was too much for him, that he was so used to his role as a middle child avoiding attention that when he had it, all he wanted to do was run.

Ian had to give her something. He owed it to her. “I have a doctor’s appointment. Next week.”

Fiona had gotten distracted totaling up a customer’s check, and her head shot up from her math at his words. “Ian, really? That’s great news! I mean it, I’m so proud of you!” Her eyes sparkled as she reached across the counter and cupped his face, leaning forward and planting a small peck on his forehead and moving back to the customer who was waiting for her.

Sure, Ian knew that it was misleading, but it wasn’t _technically_ a lie. What was the harm in helping Fiona to rest easy for once in her life?

\----------

Ian drummed his fingers restlessly on his thigh, waiting for his name to be called. Even though he was at the university, and not a doctor’s office, the neuroscience department still had that cold, clinical feel. The atmosphere just automatically made Ian nervous. He heard a low ringing and watched as the receptionist picked up the phone. A moment later, she hung up and looked up at him.

“Mr. Gallagher? They’re ready for you now.”

Ian jumped out of his seat, wiped his clammy palms against his jeans, and followed the girl through a door and down a short hallway. He was led into a conference room where there was an older woman seated at the head of a long table, clearly in charge, and a group of students who looked like they might not be much older than he was. The woman stood up and moved forward to greet him.

“Hello, Mr. Gallagher. I’m Dr. Riordan, head of the Department of Neuroscience here at the university. I’m leading this clinical trial.” She shook his hand and then waved her arm towards the seated group. “These are our student researchers who are assisting. Do you mind if they sit in while we talk?” Ian shook his head no and she smiled. “Great. Have a seat and we can get started. Can I call you Ian?”

“Sure,” he replied as he sat opposite from her at the far end of the table. Ian felt a bit uncomfortable with everyone’s attention on him, but he didn’t want to make a thing about it, so he just focused on the doctor.

Dr. Riordan grabbed a notebook and a pen and got ready to take some notes. She looked up at Ian and smiled. She was warm, and Ian felt a little better as she addressed him. “Ian, tell us a bit about why you’re here.”

“Um, well I saw your flyer on campus in my brother’s dorm.” He paused, scratching at the back of his neck. It was one thing to think about something, but verbalizing it was an entirely different story. Ian felt tears prickle in his eyes as he said what he had been thinking. “I want to erase my ex from my memory.”

“What’s her name?”

“His. Uh, Mickey.”

“I apologize for my presumption,” Dr. Riordan said. Ian waved her off and she continued. “How long have you known him?”

“Shit. Oh, sorry, um. Since maybe second grade. We played little league together.”

She made a note in her book and continued. “How long were you together?”

Ian had to think about her question for a moment. “Officially, or from the beginning?”

“Whatever you would consider being together.”

_Together. Together. Together._ The word tickled Ian’s brain, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember why. But he knew the answer to the doctor’s question. “Since I was 15. Until a couple of months ago.”

More scribbling in his file and then Dr. Riordan was speaking again. “Here is the situation. In terms of your age and your general good health, you would likely be a good candidate to move forward as part of the clinical trial. Pending further testing, of course, to make sure there aren’t underlying medical conditions we don’t know about. There are, however, two mitigating factors that could affect the success rate of this memory erasure.”

“Okay…” Ian hesitated, trying to prepare himself for what she could say.

“The first is just the sheer amount of time you have known your ex. Subconsciously, there is a strong likelihood that his presence runs deeper through your memories than even you realize, and that may make it difficult to fully remove him.”

Fair enough, that made sense. “What’s the other thing?” He asked.

“According to your medical records, you have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, but are currently not med-compliant. Ian?” She waited to continue until he looked up and met her gaze. “I cannot stress to you enough how important it is that you take your prescribed medications and take them according to how they were administered. If you’re not compliant, that can affect how the trial works, it could potentially cause you problems, and there could be other consequences we don’t even know or haven’t considered. Do you understand, Ian?”

_Fuck._ Ian hadn’t even stopped to consider that this could throw a wrench in the entire plan. While he still wasn’t exactly prepared to accept a bipolar disorder diagnosis, what difference would it make to just take the damn meds if he was willing to go through something as intense as memory erasure anyway? Ian found himself nodding his agreement.

Dr. Riordan smiled at him. “Good. We will set you up with an appointment for your physical and bloodwork. When that all comes back, we will have you come in for memory mapping. You will be connected to leads that monitor your brainwaves and physiological reactions to stimuli and to memories, and we will use that data to come up with a plan for how to best locate and remove your unwanted memories. It may take more than one session, and you will need someone to come with you and escort you home after each procedure. Afterwards, we will need to monitor you periodically to see how effective the process has been and if there is any need for further intervention. Do you have any questions?”

Ian shook his head.

“Then we will see you at your next appointment.”

\----------

Mandy sat at the tiny table in the kitchen she and Kenyatta shared. She was on her third cigarette, smoking them one after the other as she read and reread the card in her hand. It had arrived that morning, waiting for her when she got home from work, in a plain nondescript envelope addressed to her. She almost threw it out, so unaccustomed to receiving mail here that she thought it must be an ad or a flyer, but it had been addressed to Amanda. No one called her that, and for that alone, she had torn open the envelope and pulled the card out.

She had first noticed the University of Chicago logo in the top corner, familiar from when she had done all of Lip’s college applications. At first, she thought the card had to do with him somehow, until she really looked at the message printed on it.

**IAN GALLAGHER HAS CHOSEN TO HAVE MICKEY MILKOVICH REMOVED FROM HIS MEMORIES.**

**PLEASE NEVER MENTION THEIR RELATIONSHIP TO HIM AGAIN.**

Even now, as she lit her fourth cigarette and read the words again, it didn’t make any fucking sense to her. Sure, she knew as well as anyone that Ian was impulsive. But _this_ , this was extreme. She wondered if it had anything to do with what had been going on with him when she left Chicago. Mandy felt guilt pool in her belly. She really didn’t know what had been happening at home since she left, and now she felt like shit that she hadn’t bothered to find out. She knew Ian was in a strange place when she split, and she hadn’t tried to keep in touch. Mandy had been so consumed with trying to make it work with Kenyatta. But it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t, and she had been neglecting her family and friends for nothing.

Mandy was of no use to the situation sitting on her ass in Indiana. As much as she dreaded the idea, she knew she had to go back. If not for good, then at the very least to talk Ian out of this stupid fucking idea he’d come up with. Spurned on by the knowledge of what she had to do, Mandy shoved herself back from the table, stubbing out the cigarette and moving into her bedroom to pack a bag.

It was time to go home.

Mandy made a beeline for the closet. She yanked open the door and grabbed the first bag she saw, turning quickly on her heel and crossing the room to her and Kenyatta’s shared dresser. She pulled open the drawers and grabbed handfuls of her clothes, shoving them into the bag until the zipper would barely close. Mandy fought with it, tugging and twisting until she finally got it secured. She hadn’t brought much in the way of personal effects with her to Indiana, content to leave her memories behind and start fresh, so packing up was easier than she thought. Mandy went back and sat down at the small dinette table in the kitchen to look up bus schedules on her phone when she heard the lock on the front door and knew Kenyatta was home.

She felt her blood run cold. There was no way that this could end well. Kenyatta was going to be furious, but Mandy knew she had to get home and stop her best friend from doing something he would really regret. She _had to_.

Kenyatta pushed his way inside, nudging the door closed behind him with his foot. He wriggled out of his coat and dropped it on the couch. He surveyed the room, looking around until he caught sight of Mandy in the kitchen, duffle bag at her feet.

“The fuck is this?” He asked.

Mandy wanted to stay calm, but she could feel her anxiety building. She had to get through to Kenyatta. “Some shit’s going down at home, I gotta go back. Just for a few days, a week tops.”

She felt his presence fill the room as he moved closer to her, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a beer. He twisted the top off and took a few long gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He put the now half empty bottle on the counter and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Did I fuckin’ tell you that you could go?”

Mandy knew better than to push him when he challenged her. She of all people knew the consequences he was willing to dole out. Despite all that, she snorted and heard herself say, “Don’t recall fuckin’ askin’ you.”

With a lurch, Kenyatta stepped forward and grabbed her, his huge hand wrapping around her bicep and yanking her right up from the chair. He pushed her roughly into the counter across from him and she just knew that she’d have a bruise on her hip. “Watch who the fuck you talk to, bitch.”

She snarled and lunged at him. “Just fuckin’ do somethin’ already,” she yelled. “C’mon! It’ll make a great story. Poor, sad girl, finally met her miserable fate.” She pounded her fists against his chest but he was unmoved. Mandy couldn’t really hurt him, and she knew it. This was just asking for a problem.

Kenyatta grabbed her arm again, this time stopping to grab her duffle bag with his other hand. He dragged her into the living room and opened their front door. Kenyatta forced Mandy outside with a shove. She tripped and fell onto the sidewalk, the bag landing next to her as he tossed it. She watched him grab her coat off the coat tree, throwing it at her as he kicked her boots outside.

“Crazy bitch, just fuckin’ go then. Your pussy ain't even worth it anyway.”

Kenyatta shut the door, leaving Mandy sitting dazed in the floor. A minute later, the door opened one last time and her purse and cell phone came flying at her. She heard the door close and the lock click into place. Mandy scrabbled for her purse, checking to see if anything was missing. He had left her money and personal effects, but had taken her keys. Her phone screen was shattered, but Mandy reasoned that was better than her nose. In the shock of everything, she hadn't noticed how cold it was out, and she rushed to pull on her boots and coat.

Seemed she really was going home after all.

\----------

When Mandy walked into her old house, she could feel her tension levels rise. Being home never felt good. It was why she had run away in the first place. Couple that with the reason she was returning and Mandy was anything but excited to be there. Her one source of relief was that she wasn’t confronted by Mickey when she got there. Mandy wasn’t sure what he did or didn’t know about Ian’s ridiculous idea, but she wasn’t looking forward to finding out. She was, however, greeted by Svetlana and Yevgeny, who she was surprisingly happy to see.

Svetlana said something to her son in Russian, motioning towards Mandy. He looked at his aunt curiously but made no move to engage her, and she didn’t push. She gave him a little tickle on his belly and turned her attention to his mother. “Mickey home?”

Svetlana put Yevgeny in his high chair and moved towards the kitchen to get him some food. “No, he and Iggy go to take care of something. Where is your piece of shit boyfriend?”

Mandy really didn’t want to get into this conversation. “Home.”

She sat down next to Yevgeny with an open jar of baby food and started spooning it to him. “Mmm. You are back for good?”

“I don’t know yet,” Mandy sighed.

Svetlana seemed to accept that answer at face value. Mandy cautiously joined her at the table, sitting across from her and watching her feed Yevgeny. She couldn’t help but smile at her nephew, how big he was getting. She felt wistful knowing she had missed so much, knowing she would miss out on more if she went back to Indiana. Focusing on the task at hand, Mandy reached into her pocket and pulled out the card, pushing it across the table towards Svetlana.

“You get one of these?” She asked.

Svetlana didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached for her pack of cigarettes and shook one free, placing it between her lips and lighting it. She examined the card, taking a slow puff and blowing the smoke out towards the ceiling. Finally, she looked up at Mandy and held her gaze.

“This is why you come home? Because Carrot Boy does stupid thing? Not before?”

“Of course,” Mandy looked at her funny, surprised Svetlana would even ask her something like that. “This is a dumb fuckin’ idea, someone’s gotta talk him out of it.”

Svetlana tapped her cigarette against the ashtray and took another puff. “You leave when dumb things already happening. You stay away when it gets worse and worse. Now you return, for Carrot Boy. Not for your brother. He needed you to be here too.”

That guilty feeling arose in Mandy again, and she desperately tried to tamp it down. “He seemed to be handling things just fine without me,” she bit out.

The cigarette was ground out in the ashtray and Svetlana’s eyes were on her again. “He wasn’t.” Her voice was cold.

Mandy wasn’t quite sure when Svetlana had joined Mickey’s side, but she seemed to be there and Mandy wasn’t interested in fighting with her. “Look, did you get one of these?” Svetlana gave her a curt nod. “Has my brother seen it?”

“Nyet.” Svetlana shook her head. “I threw it away, it would kill him.”

Well, at least she hadn’t went to him with it and gloated. If this had been before Yevgeny was born, that’s probably exactly what she would have done. Mandy felt some relief at that. “Have you seen Ian?”

Svetlana snorted. “He can’t be bothered to show his face since they break up. He is, as you say, in the wind.”

Mandy stood up, grabbing the card and tucking it back in her coat pocket. “I’m going to talk to him. If my brother gets back before I do, don’t tell him why I’m here.”

She moved across the room to the front door before Svetlana could answer her. The short walk to the Gallagher house was both a blessing and a curse. Good because it was cold and Mandy didn’t want to be outside long, but bad because she didn’t have nearly enough time to formulate a plan for how to deal with this conversation. She knew her best friend. He was impulsive and very, very stubborn. How was she going to convince him that this was a huge mistake? Before she knew it, she was knocking at the front door.

There was a rustle inside and a minute later, Fiona Gallagher was at the door. If there was any Gallagher she’d prefer not to answer, this was the one. Fiona stepped aside as she greeted her. “Hey, long time.”

Mandy stepped inside and stood awkwardly in the entrance to the living room. “Yeah, just got back. Ian here?”

Fiona looked at her almost sadly. Mandy hated that, that look of pity Gallaghers seemed to reserve just for Milkoviches. Mandy didn’t want their pity, knew they were no better than she was. She was about to make a remark but Fiona spoke first. “Is this about the card? I figured he’d send you one. If so, you’re too late.”

Mandy felt the air sucked right out of her. “What?”

They had never been friends, they were barely even cordial, but Fiona reached out and put her hand on Mandy’s shoulder and it felt nice, almost reassuring. “C’mon, come in, let’s talk. I’ll fill you in.”

She allowed Fiona to steer her through the living room and into the kitchen. Mandy slumped down in a chair at the table while Fiona moved towards the coffee pot. As she prepared a new batch and got out mugs, Fiona spoke.

“We tried to talk him out of it, but you know how my brother is, once he got the idea in his mind there was no going back. I actually wondered if maybe it wasn't his bipolar that made him do it, but I don't think they would have went through with it if they thought he wasn't in his best mind frame.”

Fiona sighed as she move back and forth to the table, bringing milk and sugar and spoons. “I know he and Mickey had some tough times, but they loved each other so much.” She looked at Mandy thoughtfully. “Even with the bad shit I went through with Jimmy, I wouldn't want to just forget about him. I don't know why Ian thought this was the way to go.”

She filled two mugs with coffee and brought them to the table, setting one down for Mandy. They were quiet while they prepared their drinks and took a sip. The hot mug felt good in Mandy's hands and she wrapped her fingers tightly around it.

“Where is Ian now?” Mandy asked.

“Work,” Fiona told her. “He's working with me at Patsy’s for now, as a busboy.”

Mandy traced a finger around the rim of her mug. “What does he actually know about what he did?”

“Nothing,” Fiona replied, shrugging and nodding at Mandy’s baffled expression. “I know, it’s crazy to think right? But that’s part of how it’s supposed to work I guess. He can’t know that he’s chosen to forget something, because the brain will try to make itself remember if it knows. Some shit like that.”

Mandy was totally perplexed at the concept. “But, I mean, how do they know if it’s worked? Or that there were no side effects or anything?”

Fiona lit a cigarette and offered her pack to Mandy, who accepted the gift and lit one herself. “It’s a clinical trial. So they monitor him. They created a false memory that gets him to go to there for checkups and shit. Say it has to do with his bipolar.” She took a puff of her cigarette and smiled sadly. “Him being med compliant was a condition of them agreeing to allow him into this trial. I hate to say it, but it’s been the only blessing to come out of this.”

No sooner had she felt a tear betray her and sneak out of her eye was Mandy swiping it away. She was mad at her best friend, and she was also wracked with guilt that she left him high and dry. Left both of them high and dry. It was no wonder really that Mickey wasn’t blowing up her phone with updates much. Fiona reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

“Listen Mandy, don’t beat yourself up about anything. There is nothing that you being here would have changed. Believe me, we tried. We all tried to talk him out of it.”

She pulled her hand out of Fiona’s reach and stood up. “I should really go. Don’t… don’t tell Ian I was here.”

Fiona nodded and stood as well. “I’ll walk you out.”

Mandy shuffled through the living room and out the front door, only stopping when she got to the bottom of the porch steps to turn around and give Fiona a wave, which she returned in kind. While Mandy felt her guilt assuaged a little bit, she couldn’t help but wonder if things could have been different somehow.

\----------

Mickey and Iggy walked into the Milkovich house, greeted by the sight of Svetlana washing dishes in the kitchen while Yevgeny sat in his high chair. She nodded to Mickey and motioned him over, wetting a cloth under the running water and handing it to him.

“Can you clean baby’s face?”

He took the cloth and nodded, going over to his son and wiping his cheeks and mouth. He smoothed a hand over the fuzz on the top of Yevgeny’s head. Ever since what Mickey called the Indiana Incident, he had grown a lot more affection for his son. Whatever struggles he’d had with the idea of fatherhood were mostly gone after that. While Mickey knew he could never forget the circumstances of what happened, he finally felt some ease about not holding them against his son. Mickey puffed his cheeks out and made a silly face at Yevgeny, earning him some giggles. He unstrapped the baby from the chair and hoisted him over his head, pulling more laughter out. As he played with the baby, he noticed a duffle bag on the floor.

“Who’s is that?” He asked.

Svetlana looked up and followed his gaze. “Your sister. She is back.”

“Mandy’s _here_ ?” Mickey said incredulously. He hadn’t even talked to his sister since she’d left, save for a few occasional text messages. Quite frankly, he was still kind of pissed that she’d even gone to begin with. “Is she _back_ back?”

That earned him a shrug. “She was, how you say…?” Svetlana waved her hand, the language barrier getting her tongue tied.

“Vague?”

She nodded. “Vague, yes.”

Mickey put Yevgeny in his little playpen and handed him one of his favorite toys to distract him. He hummed thoughtfully, wondering why Mandy would finally decide to come back after months away. The question had no sooner crossed his mind when he heard the front door open and Mandy herself walked in. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment before speaking.

“Hey shithead,” Mickey greeted his sister. “‘Bout time you show up around here again.”

“Hey yourself, assface.”

She hesitated for a moment before stepping forward and hugging him. Mickey hugged her back. Despite the fact that he wasn’t thrilled with her at the moment, it felt really, really good to see her. She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Mickey noticed a bruise on her hip above the waistband of her jeans and had to bite the inside of his cheek to not make a snide remark about it.

“How long you stayin’ for?” He asked her.

“Not sure, I didn’t set a time limit. You tryin’ to get rid of me already?” She was joking, the tone of her voice said it was a joke, but Mickey couldn’t help but take it seriously.

He simply answered, “No.”

Mandy smiled at him shyly and gave him a light punch on the arm, not wanting to give into the seriousness of the moment. “You idiots got food in this house? I’m starving.”

“Igg and I just got a few bucks from a run we were on, we could order a few pies.” Mickey suggested.

“Sounds great.”

\----------

Ian was laying on the table, electrodes stuck to his skin. Monitors for his brain activity, monitors for his pulse, his breathing. He felt like some sci-fi movie nightmare, and for a moment he considered calling the entire thing off. But he’d done his physical and bloodwork, he was taking his meds and felt like a lethargic piece of shit as a result, and what was the fucking point of it all if he didn’t go through with it? He laid there and tried to calm himself, breathing in and out steadily through his nose. The doctor had explained that they would go through an interview of sorts, ask Ian to recall memories of he and Mickey’s relationship, answer basic questions, all in an effort to trace his brain activity in order to target where they would need to focus when it came to the memory erasing. He had been given a medicine which should help to create a more susceptible state, a place where Ian would be more likely to remember more hidden memories and would make hard memories easier to discuss.

There was a soft hand on his shoulder. Dr. Riordan loomed over him. “Are you ready, Ian?”

He let out a shaky breath and nodded.

“Okay, tell me about your first memory of Mickey.”

Ian thought for a moment. “We were in little league together. I was seven. It was a charity team run through one of the local churches for the poor kids.”

The doctor’s voice was low, enough to prompt him along but not break him out of his reminiscing. “How old was he?”

“Eight, maybe nine.”

“What do you remember about being in little league together?”

“Not much,” Ian admitted. “I only remember one thing really.”

“What was that?” Dr. Riordan asked.

“Mickey pissed on first base,” Ian told her. “I was at second and we were playing against another church team. He peed on the base and the coach kicked him out of the game.”

“What else do you remember from then?”

Ian paused, trying to think, but nothing was coming to him. “I don’t think he came back to the team after that, I don’t remember anything else.”

There was light beeps coming from one of the machines that Ian was hooked up to. He could vaguely hear buttons clicking and Dr. Riordan scribbling something next to him.

“You’re doing great,” she encouraged. “Do you remember other things about him from your childhood? Did you guys spend time together?”

“No, we weren’t friends when we were kids.”

“Okay, let’s move on then. How did Mickey come back into your life?”

“Mandy.” Ian smiled at the thought of his best friend. He missed her a lot. He had wished so much that he’d been able to do something to convince her to stay in Chicago.

“And who is Mandy?” Dr. Riordan asked.

“My best friend. Mickey’s sister.”

“Tell me how she brought you together.”

Ian gave the best summary he could. “There was a misunderstanding, she told Mickey that I had tried to make a move on her and he came to defend her honor, tried to get into a fight with me. Eventually she and I cleared things up but he still would come to my job and cause trouble. Finally I went to his house to confront him one day and we wound up hooking up.”

“Good,” she said. “Now this is important, Ian. I don’t need you to tell me every detail of that encounter, but can you think about it? Think about it as far in depth as you can, recall everything you can about that incident while we track your activity, okay?”

He nodded, concentrating on that day. He remembered grabbing the tire iron from the front porch and moving into the house. Ian thought of how still Mickey looked, sprawled out on his bed, how someone who was usually so frenetic when he was awake was so calm in his sleep. He remembered how just before he roused Mickey, he thought it might be like poking a sleeping bear.

Ian thought of how the two of them had wrestled for control, how they came to land with Mickey straddling Ian and the tire iron in his hand. He thought about that pause, all of the tension in that room boiled down to that one moment that changed the trajectory of both of their lives. Ian could faintly hear the machines in the room doing their work, but he focused on remembering how he felt that day. The exuberance, the confusion, the disbelief that _yes_ , that did in fact happen. At the time, Ian never could have imagined how much that one day would really shape his life. And here he laid, prepared to turn that memory into data to be wiped out in the very near future. Like he was just a computer, waiting for some routine maintenance and file cleanup.

A tear trickled out of his eye, tracing a path down his cheek and neck.

\----------

The four of them and Yevgeny had a great time that evening, sitting around the living room and just eating pizza. It felt like old times being back in the house with her brothers and Mandy was relishing it. She could see that Mickey and Svetlana had reached a new level of peace since she’d been gone, and it was such a relief to be with all of them and not feel that old tension and anxiety that permeated everything around them. Maybe being back in Chicago wouldn’t be so bad. It could be a do-over, for all of them really. But while she was enjoying herself, Mandy also wanted a little bit of alone time, and thought maybe it was time for her to retreat for a bit.

“So, did you give my room away, or can I go put my shit in there?” Mandy teased her brothers.

Iggy threw a piece of pizza crust at her. “Thought about it, probably coulda even got a few bucks for it, but we haven’t even touched anythin’. Figured you might come to your senses one of these days and come back.”

She smirked at him and grabbed her bag from where she’d dropped it, reaching over to pull her coat from the back of the chair. She didn’t even notice the small white card that fell out of her pocket.

Mickey reached over and picked it up. “Hey Mands, you dropped something.” He flipped the card over to see what it said.

**IAN GALLAGHER HAS CHOSEN TO HAVE MICKEY MILKOVICH REMOVED FROM HIS MEMORIES.**

**PLEASE NEVER MENTION THEIR RELATIONSHIP TO HIM AGAIN.**

Mickey squinted at it, not understanding what he was looking at. He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, flapping it at Mandy. “What the fuck is this?”

Mandy was stricken. She thought she may have finally lost the ability to speak. _No no no no no_ . This wasn’t how he was supposed to find out. She shook her head, putting her hands up to her face as if to block the sight of her brother holding that card. The fucking card. _Why hadn’t she burned the fucking card?_

He lunged forward and pulled her hands away, shoving the card in front of her nose. “Mandy, _what the fuck is this_?!”

Svetlana jumped up from the couch and rushed over, forcing herself bodily between them and pushing Mickey back with a hand on his chest. “Hey. _Hey_! This isn’t her fault.”

“You know about this shit too?” Mickey snarled. “One of you better start fuckin’ explaining, _now._ ”

Mandy tried to plead with him, feeling tears in her eyes. “Mick, I swear, I didn’t know anything about this until I got that in the mail. I wanted to stop it! I came home to try to stop him. It was… I was too late.” She tried to reach for him but he recoiled away from her touch. Her tears flowed freely now. “I’m sorry. Mick, please. I’m so sorry.”

Mickey felt the rage boiling inside of him. He flexed his fingers, clenched his jaw. The urge to cause destruction was strong, so strong. If he’d been any calmer he would have been very concerned about it. “You sat here, you all fuckin’ sat here, and you said _nothing._ ”

He swung his fist, Svetlana and Mandy darting out of the way as Mickey punched right through the drywall. He hadn’t been trying to hit either of them, he really hadn’t been, but they didn’t know that judging by the fear in their eyes. Iggy jumped up from where he’d been watching things play out on the couch and wrestled Mickey’s arms behind his back.

Mickey struggled against him. “You knew! You all fuckin’ knew! When the fuck were you going to tell me?” He tried to kick back at Iggy, who deftly avoided the hit. “Get the fuck off me!”

By then, Yevgeny had started screaming and Svetlana rushed over to pick him up and soothe him. She could deal with Mickey having a meltdown, but not when it upset her son. She marched over and stood right in front of Mickey. “Baby is scared. _You_ scare baby. Stop it.”

That did the trick. Mickey understood what it was like to be scared of your own father, and he would be damned if he was going to continue that trend in this house. He forced himself to stop struggling against Iggy’s armhold and breathed deep gulps of air until he calmed down.

“Let go of me.”

Iggy and Svetlana looked at each other for a moment before she gave him a small nod and he did as Mickey asked. He reached for Yevgeny and Svetlana let him take the baby from her arms. He bounced and shushed his son as he pushed past his sister and went into Terry’s old room, where Svetlana and Yevgeny now slept, pushing the door closed behind them.

Yevgeny looked up at him, quiet now except for a little hiccup now and then as he calmed down. His eyes were huge and blue, shining with tears. Mickey felt his own eyes fill up at the idea that he caused that.

“Hey, I’m sorry bud, okay?”

He pressed Yev’s cheek to his own shoulder and rubbed his back while he paced back and forth across the room. Eventually he heard the baby’s light snores and he gently laid him down in his crib. Mickey stood over and just watched him for a moment. He was so innocent. Mickey envied him in a way.

Mickey tiptoed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him. He turned and saw all three of them watching him, waiting to see what happened next. They were all at a standoff, Mickey on one side and everyone else on the other. He leveled his sister with a hard stare.

“I think you should fuckin’ go,” Mickey told her. “You’re good at that anyway.”

Mandy glared at him. “That’s not fuckin’ fair.” He shrugged, not very concerned if he’d offended her or not. “You can’t kick me out, Mick. This is my house too.”

“Fine, if you won’t leave, I’ll fuckin’ go then.” Mickey went into his room and grabbed his wallet, shoving it in the back pocket of his jeans. He put on his coat and checked to make sure he had his phone.

Svetlana tried one last time to talk to him. “Where you go?”

“That’s none of your fuckin’ concern.” He spoke over his shoulder, not stopping to pay any of them any further attention as he walked out and slammed the front door.

\----------

“Ian, do you need a moment?” Dr. Riordan’s voice was quiet, soothing. He shook his head faintly and she spoke again. “Tell me about the early days of your relationship.”

He sighed. “At first, we just hooked up. Mickey was in the closet. Slowly we started becoming like friends and we would spend time together. I got him a job and we worked together for a while. We had our ups and downs, but we always found our way back to each other.”

The doctor’s voice got firmer, ready to give Ian guidance and instruction. “Now we will try something new. I am not going to ask you questions about Mickey. I want you to just think about him. Memories you shared, things that remind you of him, places you went together. If you feel you have trouble staying on track, I can prompt you from time to time, but it’s important to trace how the brain connects the memories. Are you okay with this?” Ian nodded and she continued. “Great, go ahead and get started.”

Ian focused on where they had left off, talking about him and Mickey finding their way back to each other. And they had. Multiple times, they had done just that. Ian thought about the first time they were apart, when Mickey had been sent to juvie after the shooting at the Kash and Grab. It had seemed like an eternity until Mickey got back. Ian had been thrilled when Mickey had gotten his release date, all too eager to play bodyguard to Mandy as an excuse to be there, to be near Mickey again.

They had fallen right back into it, going to the dugouts, shotgunning beers and fucking against the chain link fence. Ian smiled wistfully, thinking about how it had all seemed so complicated then, but it had only gotten harder and harder. He couldn’t help but remember their last time together at those same dugouts, the things he’d said to Mickey. Ian winced at the thought. It had been shitty. He had lashed out and tried to hurt Mickey because _he_ was hurting. He knew that. But in the moment, he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

Ian thought of the breakup. That was a memory Ian would be glad to forget. God, he’d been such a dick. Every once in a blue moon, he would see that look Mickey had on his face and just cringe. The negative things were flashing through his mind now. Doing that porno. Trying to take Yevgeny to Florida. Terry catching them. _Terry_.

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder and his eyes flew open. “Ian? Your blood pressure spiked pretty high. I think that’s enough for today. We will schedule your next appointment, but we’ve got quite a bit of data collected to work with. We may only need one more mapping session before we can move on to the procedure.”

Ian nodded at her, still a bit shaky, and allowed the student assistant to start taking his leads and monitors off.

\----------

Mickey could barely work his phone he was so angry. He scrolled right past the person he was trying to call in his contact list three times before he was able to touch their name, putting the phone to his ear and listening to the ringing. After five rings, he heard the voice.

“Hello?”

“Fiona. We need to fuckin’ talk.”

He heard her sigh over the phone line. “I guess you heard. I should have called.  You can’t come over here, Mickey. You can’t. I’ll meet you.”

“Fine,” he huffed out. “Twenty minutes, at that coffee shop down the block from The Alibi.”

“Okay, see you there.”

“Twenty minutes, Fiona.”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.”

Mickey hung up on her and dragged his hand down his face. He patted his pockets until he found his cigarettes and lighter. He pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit it, turning and walking towards the coffee shop to meet her. When he got there, he dawdled outside for a few minutes, smoking another cigarette to pass the time. At the last puff, he flicked it into the street and entered the shop.

He walked up to the counter. “Two small coffees.”

“What kind of coffee would you like, sir?” The barista asked.

Mickey wondered if it was a trick question. “The kind that comes in a cup. I don’t get what you mean.”

“Well we have French press, dark roast, blonde roast-”

“Just give me your basic coffee.” _Jesus, shoulda blown up the building instead of just shooting up the storefront,_ Mickey thought to himself. He gave the barista a few dollars and took his change, throwing it in the tip jar. He accepted the coffee that was handed to him and brought it over to where the fixings were, adding some milk and sugar and tasting it until he was satisfied. The place was quiet, an older gentleman with a laptop at a far table in the back the only company. Mickey sat near the front and waited for Fiona to arrive.

She was a few minutes late when she finally came bursting through the door, bringing a gust of cool air with her. Winter would soon be on its way out and spring would be rolling in, but for now it was still chilly. She glanced around until she spotted Mickey and came over to his table, sitting down and unwinding her scarf from around her neck.

He motioned to the cup in front of her. “Gotcha some coffee.”

“Thanks,” she said, wrapping her hands around the cup for warmth. She reached for the sugar he’d left on the table and ripped open a few packets, pouring the contents in her cup and swirling it around. “Sorry I’m late, had to find an excuse to get out of there.”

Mickey hadn’t come here for casual conversation and he cut straight to the point. “So what the fuck? After everything that’s gone down, you didn’t think to give me a call and let me know what the fuck was up?”

Fiona threw her hands up in exasperation. “Of course I thought about it! Jesus Mickey, I didn’t know how to fuckin’ tell you something like that. How do you tell someone that? I felt terrible, I still do. We begged him not to go through with it. You have to know that. _All_ of us.”

He scoffed and took a sip of his coffee to avoid having to respond right away. She reached across the table and rested her hand on his wrist.

“Mickey, you gotta believe that we were all upset about it. You don’t deserve this, and you didn’t deserve him breaking up with you the way he did. You got a bad shake outta all this.” Fiona leaned in close to make sure that he was really listening to her. “I mean it. I really wish it was different.”

He bit the inside of his lip. He didn’t want to ask it. He really didn’t want to ask it, but he fuckin’ had to. “Do you think… Do you think it was his bipolar that made him decide to do that?”

She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t that. It was just him.”

That actually stung worse. Mickey wished there was something he could blame it on, fact or fiction, something other than having to accept that the boy that he loved with his whole heart could just erase him. Just like that. The pain of it all struck him so deep, and he found his breath shuddering when he tried to inhale. His lungs were on fire. He was on fire. He felt himself burning from the inside out, getting rid of every bit of joy and hope that he had clung to in these past few months.

Mickey pulled his arm back from Fiona’s reach. “You know what, maybe I’ll do it too.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” he exclaimed with fake enthusiasm. “Maybe I’ll go pay his doctor a visit and get my brain wiped too. Forget your asshole brother ever fuckin’ existed.”

“Mickey, I don’t think-”

He jumped out of his seat, shoving the chair back hard. “Actually, that’s a great fuckin’ idea. First thing in the morning, I’m going to get an appointment and soon enough, Ian Clayton Gallagher will be nothing more than a fuckin’ nightmare.”

Fiona grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket, desperate for him to stop. “Mickey, please you gotta listen to me-”

He ripped his arm away from her and pointed in her face. “No, I _don’t_ gotta listen to you. Why should he be the only one who gets to walk around free and happy without me?” Mickey’s voice cracked and he stopped for a second to collect himself, flicking his nose to fight off the tears that were threatening to slide down his cheeks. “Why do I have to hold on to these memories while he gets to just _be_? I’m done.”

Mickey shoved his way through the coffee shop door and out into the cold night, not bothering to look back.

\----------

All of the Gallagher kids had settled around the kitchen table, wondering why Ian had called a family meeting. Something like this was usually the work of Fiona, who was just as much in the dark as everyone else. They all stared at Ian, waiting for him to finally tell them what the hell was going on. Ian fumbled a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket. He opened it up and smoothed it out, placing it on the table.

“I went to see Lip at the dorms a few weeks ago and I came across this,” he said, gesturing to the paper.

Lip picked it up and read it, passing it to Fiona, who read it while Carl and Debbie crowded around her to see it too.

“So what?” Lip asked.

Ian hesitated for a moment. “So I made an appointment.” Everyone stopped and stared at him and he plunged forward before he could talk himself out of it. “I went for the consultation and I’ve done all the pre-work. Now all that’s left is the actual memory erasing.”

“Wait, do they just totally clear your brain and you start over again?” Carl asked.

“No, it’s not-”  
“Are you going to forget about us?” Liam whispered, his eyes wide with fright.

“ _No!_ No, it’s not like that at all.” Ian reassured, pulling Liam’s chair closer to himself and putting an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “You tell them what you don’t want to remember and they remove just those memories.”

“So what are you trying to forget?” Debbie interjected.

“Mickey. I’m erasing Mickey from my memory.” Ian pursed his lips tightly. It’s not like Debbie could understand how loaded her question was. Just saying out loud like that, making it real and tangible, filled Ian with a sickly feeling. He forced himself to keep quiet and watch while all of his siblings reacted in unison.

“What?!” Debbie yelled, pushing herself back from the table and standing up. “Are you kidding?!”

Fiona’s jaw dropped and she covered her mouth.

Carl and Liam both sat in silence, looking at the rest of their siblings, unsure how to react.

Lip shook his head and picked up his cigarettes, putting one between his lips and lighting it. “Jesus Christ, Ian. Of all the shit you could want to forget… Monica? Fuckin’ _Frank_? And you pick Mickey? That’s low.”

“Oh, like you give a shit anyway!” Ian dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “You never even fuckin’ liked him!”

“That’s not fair,” Lip argued. “No, I didn’t like him at first, but it’s different now. All I ever gave a shit about was that he did right by you, and you know what? He came around. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“It’s too much!” Ian wanted to be able to explain why this was the right decision for him, to be able to put it into words, but he wasn’t sure he knew how. “ _I_ was too much! Everything we went through was too much! All of it! I just want to start over, I _need_ to start over.”

“But you guys love each other,” Fiona reasoned. “Maybe you just need this time and space to figure things out.”

Ian sighed. “You don’t have to agree with it, but I need you guys to just be there for me. Can you _please_ just do that?”

Fiona reached over and squeezed his hand. They were all silent. Debbie stormed away from the table, Carl and Liam slowly following behind. Lip lit another cigarette and stared at the ember, refusing to look at his brother. But they didn’t say no. It would have to be enough.

\----------

Mickey felt like shit as he dragged himself to the train station.

He had slept in the abandoned buildings, the same ones he had snuck away to on and off through the years when he needed refuge. Though it had been cold, the worst of winter was thankfully over and spring wasn’t far, and he’d been able to suck it up. He couldn’t bring himself to go home, not after his blow up with Mandy and Svetlana. Besides, he needed space to process everything and think about what had happened.

The breakup had been hard enough. Mickey didn’t think he would get through that, but then one day turned into two, which turned into a week and then a month, and he was still trudging along. But finding out that Ian, _his_ Ian, could do that. It was a one-two combo of sucker punches, right to his gut and his heart. Unfortunately, it was also just the kind of impulsive thing that Mickey wouldn’t put past Ian.

When he woke up that next morning, Mickey thought over his words to Fiona again. While he had been energized by his anger the night before, the reality was that the idea of erasing Ian from his life terrified him. For a long time, Ian had been the only good thing Mickey had. Yeah, it fuckin’ hurt knowing that they weren’t together, that Ian had rid himself of everything they had together. But even at his lowest of lows, Mickey knew that the good they’d had really had been good, and it had been real, and he was terrified of taking that away from himself. Because then, what would Mickey have?

On the other hand, the Back of the Yards was a small place. How the fuck was Mickey supposed to handle it if he saw him in the street and Ian looked right past him, just like a stranger? His chest tightened at the very thought of it, of seeing Ian and Ian not seeing him. Of just being another nameless face. And again, it circled back to that anger. That deep, unbridled anger that Mickey was feeling towards Ian. That after everything, three years, all the things that Mickey did _for Ian_ to prove himself, his worthiness, his love. That all he wanted was to just love Ian, to take care of him, to just _be_ with him. How none of it had been enough.

That did it for him.

Mickey got to the university and asked a student for directions, following where they had pointed until he found the right building. He went inside and found a directory that led him to the Neuroscience department. He pushed his way through the doors and stepped up to the receptionist.

“I’d like to get my memory erased.”

She looked up at him, confused. “Sir, there is a protocol. You have to make an appointment to speak with the doctor, there are tests and further doctor’s appointments, and that’s all just to see if you qualify.”

“Who’s in charge here?” Mickey demanded. “I need to speak with the doc right away.”

“Sir, please relax and have a seat. I’ll see if she can speak with you.”

He stepped back as to not crowd the receptionist, who was clearly looking intimidated, but he couldn’t sit down. Mickey was buzzing with nervous energy. He watched her as she picked up the phone and whispered to someone on the other end, cupping the mouthpiece so he couldn’t hear her words. When she finally hung up, Mickey felt like he had to defend himself.

“I’m not gonna do anything, y’know.”

She nodded but didn’t answer. Finally, Mickey perched himself at the edge of a chair, trying to appear as calm as possible. On the off chance that she had called security instead of the doctor, he didn’t want to get escorted out and banned from the campus.

The door behind the reception area opened and a middle aged woman in a teal pantsuit came out. “I hear you’re looking to speak with me, sir?”

Mickey jumped up right away. “If you’re the doctor in charge of this joint, that’s right.”

She nodded. “I’m Dr. Riordan. What can I help you with?”

“I need you to erase my memory.”

The doctor held her hands up defensively. “Sir, you have to understand, there’s-”

Mickey cut her off. “Yeah, a protocol, I know. But this is different. There are… What do you call it? There’s a reason I need you to do this sooner rather than later. It’s urgent.”

“Extenuating circumstances?” She asked.

He gestured at her in agreement. “Yes! That, exactly that.”

“Why don’t you come back to my office with me and let’s have a discussion Mister…?”

“Milkovich. Mickey Milkovich.”

She paused when he introduced himself. “Mickey...”

“Yes, Mickey. Should sound familiar, you erased me from Ian Gallagher’s memory. And now I need you to erase him from mine.”

Dr. Riordan motioned him to follow her down the hall into her office. She waved to the seat opposite hers and they sat down facing each other. “How did you find out, Mr. Milkovich?”

“Mickey. My sister got some card you guys sent her and it fell out of her pocket. I found it.”

She winced at that. “I’m sorry you had to find out that way. There’s no gentle way to hear about something like that. I’m sure you’re upset, rightfully so. But why do you want to do this?”

“Because it’s not right.”

“What’s not right, Mickey?”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “That he gets to move on and live his life and forget all of the things that we went through, and that I have to carry all of that shit with me.”

Dr. Riordan nodded thoughtfully.

“Look,” Mickey continued. “I live, like, three blocks from him. Can you imagine what it would feel like to run into him, have him look me dead in the face and not see any of that while I would see all of it? Not even know me?”

“No,” she admitted. “I would imagine that would be terrible.”

“So would I,” he agreed. “And I don’t want to fuckin’ find out for sure.”

The doctor sighed. “Listen, I can agree to expedite things, fast track you through our process, but you still have to go through all of the steps just like any other patient. You still have to qualify. That’s the best I can do, Mickey. Are you okay with that?”

Mickey shrugged, but eventually nodded.

“Then let me explain to you how this will work.”

\----------

“Ian, are you sure, _really_ sure, that you want to do this?”

Fiona stood next to him on the front porch, hoping beyond reason that she could get through to her brother before he went through with this whopper of a mistake. Unfortunately, he seemed to have doubled down on his resolve. The night before he was scheduled for his erasure, at his doctor's instruction, he had gathered all of his possessions that reminded him of Mickey to throw away. Fiona now stood holding that box, the last physical reminders of their relationship.

He nodded, reaching out and rubbing her arm. “I have to Fi. I need this.”

Before she could argue anymore, he trotted down the porch stairs to where Lip was waiting for him in Kev’s truck. He threw open the passenger door and got inside. The horn punched through the quiet morning as Lip pulled away from the curb and left Fiona watching them go.

She went back inside and dropped down onto the couch, the box still in her hands. She traced the edge of one of the cardboard flaps with her finger. Fiona knew that Ian was secretive and would hate her looking through the box to see what was in it. But then it occurred to her that he wouldn’t remember leaving it with her anyway, and her curiosity won out. She opened it and started pulling out the items one at a time until they were all laid on the coffee table in front of her.

One of Ian’s old jackets. A butterfly knife. A visitor’s pass from the Cook County Juvenile Temporary Detention Center. A few candid pictures of Mickey, definitely taken on the fly. A few more pictures, these taken of the two of them together. A hotel key card from some swanky place in the North Side. Fiona had no idea what most of it meant. Just how little did she know about her own brother?

Seeing these items laid out in front of her was like looking through the relics of some ancient society, trying to decode it all. There was no point. Fiona swept the items back into the box, ready to get rid of it like Ian had asked. She took it and went out the back door, fully intending to throw it away. But then she saw the basement door and thought that maybe saving these things would be worth it.

Just in case.

\----------

Svetlana busied herself around the house, waiting to hear something from Mandy or Iggy about how Mickey was doing. They had taken him in for the erasure that morning, a process which they said could take up to a few hours. Then there was monitoring before he was allowed to be released and sent home.

They had all agreed that Yevgeny shouldn’t be there, since Mickey would likely be disoriented. His brother and sister would go with him and Svetlana would stay with their son. Yevgeny was down for a nap and she found herself idling around. She had already made an attempt to clean the nasty bathroom, albeit a wasted effort. She considered trying to cook some food for later, but gave up on the idea just about as soon as she thought of it. Svetlana was just too distracted with what was going on and she gave up trying to tell herself otherwise.

She dropped down onto the couch with a sigh, thinking about what was happening at that moment. As much as she hadn’t liked Ian, had taken him as a threat to her safety and her stability, she had come around. Svetlana had truly enjoyed the little family they had all been building together. She had concerns about his behavior, particularly after he took Yevgeny, but even by the time he and Mickey broke up, she had been well on her way to forgiving him. Though at this point, Svetlana’s limit for forgiveness had worn thin.

Removing Mickey from his memory would effectively cut Ian’s relationships off with the rest of them, and Svetlana wasn’t sure she could forgive him for being so cavalier about disconnecting from Yevgeny. She thought it had been a shitty move on Ian’s part, which was the only reason she understood Mickey’s need to do it for himself. But she still didn’t agree with Mickey doing it either. She had stayed quiet on the topic, not wanting to fight a pointless fight with him. Svetlana was just grateful that at least her son was young enough that he wouldn’t recall Ian anyway, and it would save the heartache of having to try to explain things to him.

There was a knock on the door, which was strange because people never seemed to knock there, just came and went as they pleased. Svetlana went over and opened the door just a crack to peek outside. Fiona looked at her expectantly, maybe a bit timidly, and gave her a small wave.

“If you’re looking for my husband or his sister, they are not here.” Svetlana told her.

“I know,” Fiona replied. “Mandy texted Lip this morning and told us Mickey was getting the erasure done. I came to talk to you.”

Svetlana narrowed her eyes at that. “I don’t know what you would need to speak to me about. I’m just whore, you make that very clear.”

“I was a bitch, and I’m sorry. I am. Can we just talk quick?” Fiona implored.

With a huff, Svetlana stepped back and opened the door enough for Fiona to come inside. The women stood in the living room awkwardly, just looking at each other. Svetlana set her gaze into a hard stare, determined to wait Fiona out until she got to the point of what she was doing here.

“Listen, I just came to see if you guys tossed whatever things Mickey got rid of, for the memory thing. When Ian was going in, he left a box of things with me to throw out, but I stashed them in our basement.”

Svetlana was curious now. “For what?”

“A rainy day?” Fiona shrugged. “Fuck, I don’t know. The hope that things would fail and this would be a waste of time and they’d come to their goddamn senses? I just figure, if they ever do remember, it might be better to have these things.”

That was a good point. Svetlana wished she’d thought of it herself, but she wasn’t about to admit that. “Maybe it is better that they forget. Orange Boy has done much to hurt Misha. Maybe it is good that my husband forget and start over.”

“I hate to break this to ya, but Mickey wasn’t always the model boyfriend. He did his share of hurting too.” Fiona was clearly getting defensive, and she pulled back before they could start bickering. She put her hands up in a gesture of peace. “No, I’m not going there. Look, you’re trying to protect Mickey, I respect that. But I know you don’t really feel that way. I’ve talked to Mandy.”

Well. Looked like Fiona had her there. Svetlana shrugged noncommittally. “It doesn’t matter what I feel, it matters what Misha feels. He feels he needs to do this too. I don’t fight with him.”

“Fair enough. I just wanted to suggest the idea, in case you guys hadn’t already gotten rid of everything.”

“Okay, thank you for suggestion. My son wake up soon for lunch, it is time you should go.” Svetlana crossed back over to the door and opened it, waiting until Fiona stepped on the porch. Before she could say anything else, Svetlana cut her off. “I hope Orange Boy has recovered from procedure and I hope he keeps taking his pills.” With that, she closed the door in Fiona’s face.

She waited until Fiona had walked away and was out of sight before she darted outside and grabbed Mickey’s discarded things from the garbage can behind the house.

\----------

Ian rolled over in bed, slowly opening his eyes. Fiona was sitting on the edge of the bed next to him, a glass of water and a sandwich in her hands. She leaned forward to put the cup on the floor and brushed his hair back on his forehead.

“How ya feeling?” She asked him.

“Like shit,” Ian replied. “My head is pounding, I don’t know why I feel so shitty, did I go on a bender or something?”

“No you had a bit of an episode,” she told him. “We took you to the doctor, got everything straightened out but they said it might be a few days before you feel more yourself again and to just keep taking your meds.”

She felt her insides twist at the lie. She didn’t like that using his bipolar was the cover story for his memory erasure, but it hadn’t been her choice in the matter. Fiona had to remind herself that Ian chose this, whether she liked it or not. He had been lucid and he chose it.

“Doc also said you could take aspirin if you needed,” Fiona told him as she reached back down for the glass of water. She’d come prepared with a few pills on the plate with his sandwich. He slid them off and put them in his mouth, taking the cup from her and downing the water. She waved the plate at him until he took it from her, grabbing the sandwich and taking a large bite.

“Thanks, Fi.”

“Get some rest.” She ordered him.

Fiona went back downstairs, where the rest of their siblings were sitting around the kitchen table, much like the night Ian called that family meeting. The mood was somber, and it was clear Debbie had been crying. Quite frankly, they were all pretty depressed over the state of affairs.

“How’s he doing?” Lip asked.

“Okay,” she told them. “The cover story seems to be holding up so far. He didn’t even question it.”

They all looked at each other sadly, knowing that they were all on the same page of secretly hoping that the erasure failed. Fiona grabbed a beer each for her and Lip and dropped down into the empty chair next to Carl, totally exhausted and over the entire thing. Maybe it would be easier as time went on and the lie became more natural, but she didn’t look forward to the inevitable idea that she would one day run into Mickey around the neighborhood, knowing this thing that Ian had done, and would have to look him in the eye.

One by one, Debbie, Carl and Liam all retreated and went upstairs to bed. Fiona and Lip sat at the kitchen table together in silence for awhile, sharing cigarettes and the comfort of each other’s company. They looked at each other, feeling that commiseration.

“When did it all go so sideways, Lip?” Fiona asked.

Lip took another puff of his cigarette and offered it to her. “Who even knows? I think it’s always been this way, we just managed to hold it off maybe longer than we should have been able.”

Fiona pondered that, among other things. “I wonder if he’ll ever remember all of this and regret it.”

“Maybe. But then again, maybe he won’t and it won’t matter anyway.”

It was a fair point. At the end of the day, if Ian never knew about what he’d chosen to do, there was really nothing to feel guilty over. But for the life of her, Fiona just couldn’t understand his decision. She thought of all of the things she had been through over the years. The family drama, the tough times they’d had as kids, how much she’d fought for her sister and brothers. She thought about Jimmy and everything they had been through. His coming and going and coming back again. As much as it had hurt, as much as it had worn her down, she wouldn’t undo that. She wouldn’t erase the good, the laughs, the love.

Lip leaned closer so that he could make sure he wasn’t overheard. “For what it’s worth, I’d never do it either. I think it’s a pretty shitty idea. Besides, I could think of much better things to erase if I would ever do it.”

She held out her beer bottle to toast. “I’ll drink to that.”

They clinked their bottles together and took a sip, each lost in thought about all of the things they’d be willing to forget.

\----------

Mickey laid there, the drugs that he was on putting him into a sort of twilight state. It didn’t feel like when he usually got high. There was no euphoria, it was more that he felt disconnected from anything around him. Things were happening, but they just didn’t seem to affect him so he let them go. Vague flashes of red hair, a laugh, and then the moment passed.

Mickey was walking down the street, a weight on his back, heavy but comforting. He was drunk, singing and laughing. There was a date, a dinner date. He was euphoric. Suddenly it was tense. He felt his chest tighten with fear and then anger. He felt it, Mickey felt it, but it was out of his reach. He tried to focus on it, but he couldn’t quite get it. The moment passed.

There were arms around him. In bed, in a freezer, in the backseat of his car. He felt the arms pulling away. Mickey reached for them, tried to tighten the arms back around himself, but they were gone. It was quiet.

Mandy was waiting, nervous and alone, in the clinic’s waiting room for news about how things had went. Iggy had stayed with her for awhile, but their cousin called him with a tip about a good score and Mandy told him to go. Wasn’t much point in two of them sitting there waiting for news.  It felt like an eternity before the doctor finally came out to speak with her. Mandy jumped up, eager to hear about her brother. “How is Mickey?”

“We’ve never seen someone whose body was so resistant to the process in any of our trials. His brain fought the entire way against us.” Dr. Riordan told her. “We’re confident that we were able to achieve full erasure, but there’s no way of knowing at this stage. He’s recovering, you can see him when he wakes up. You’re going to need to keep a watchful eye on him, I suspect he may have some side effects from all of this.”

“Okay, thanks.” Mandy was relieved to hear that he was alright at least. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Well I’m sure he wouldn’t like me telling you this, if I’ve got any indication about the type of person he is,” Dr Riordan said, “But even in his induced state, he was very emotional throughout the process. When you eliminate the source of that emotion, the feelings may still linger with no explanation. So if he’s emotional or irrational, be patient with him. And by no means think that means he’s remembering things, so be mindful not to say something about Ian that may trigger him.”

Mandy nodded and was about to sit back down when the nurse came out and motioned to her to follow. She was led down a quiet corridor until they got outside a room near the end and the nurse turned to speak with her.

“Just remember he’s very disoriented,” the nurse told her. “He may not make much sense. I’m sure he will ask you what happened and why he’s here. Make sure to tell him the cover story that you guys came up with.”

“I know,” Mandy replied.

“He’ll likely have a bad headache,” she continued. “If he complains of one, hit the buzzer on the bed and I’ll bring him something to help with that.”

The nurse opened the door and allowed Mandy to go in. She saw her brother lying in the bed, dark hair stark against the white sheets. He looked small. He appeared to still be sleeping but was moving a bit restlessly. Mandy sat in the chair next to him, content to let him wake up on his own without disturbing him. There was a TV on in the corner, but the sound was muted. She watched the daytime soap opera that was on the station in silence. She stayed that way for awhile, until she sensed her brother moving next to her. She looked over and Mickey had opened his eyes and was looking around the room.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

Mickey looked over at her, clearly disoriented. “What happened?”

_Time for the lie_. “You were in a fight, got knocked around a bit, took some hits to the head. Do you remember the fight?”

He shook his head gently, cringing as he did so. “No, but that explains why my head feels like it got split open.”

Mandy reached for the buzzer and pushed it like the nurse had instructed. “They said they’d bring you something for that.”

After the nurse had brought him some aspirin and checked his vitals, they were alone again. Mickey dozed on and off for awhile, Mandy content to watch him. She noticed that even when he was asleep, he didn’t seem very restful. When the doctor came by to check on him, Mandy brought it up to her.

“I think it might be best to keep him overnight for monitoring,” Dr. Riordan told her. “Just to err on the side of caution.”

The following day, Mickey was finally allowed to go home. He was relieved. He hated fucking hospitals, everything about them. He just wanted to be home, relaxing in his own bed with his son and his family around. He was frustrated that he couldn’t remember anything about the fight. The doctor had reassured him that it was totally normal, and encouraged him to come back in a few weeks for a follow up appointment.

Iggy and Mandy had picked him up, and he was quiet on the ride home. Ever since he woke up in the hospital the day before, he felt unsettled. It wasn’t even just about the fight. Mickey felt off somehow, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. For some odd reason, his emotions were also in hyperdrive. He’d woken up in the middle of the night and watched TV for a while, finding himself getting upset watching a rerun of Saving Private Ryan. At the time, he had chalked it up to his head injury and the pain meds. But even after he slept it off, he still felt strange.

When he got to his house, he was happy to see Svetlana and Yevgeny, giving his son raspberries until he was squealing with laughter. But Mickey still found himself looking around, half expecting that there was someone else who was supposed to be there to greet him. Maybe he’d been thinking of Colin, or even Terry, but they were both in jail. And Mickey knew that. Again, there was nothing to blame it on except the fight, so he just pressed on and ignored it.

But when he went to bed, alone with his thoughts, those emotions bubbled to the surface again. He allowed himself to cry a little, not knowing why he even needed to, totally frustrated about it, but it did help. Only a little, but it was something.

He would do that every night, for many nights to come.

 


	2. After

_ Five Years Later _

Mickey rushed through the door of The Lookout, already unzipping his sweatshirt as he made his way across the bar under the owner’s watchful eye. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. Got held a few minutes over and missed the fuckin’ train.”

Richie, the bar owner, waved Mickey off. “Not the end of the world, kid. Old man like me can still put in a few extra minutes for a good cause.” He watched as Mickey made his way behind the bar and stowed his things out of sight. “Pretty quiet today anyway. George should be here soon, send him into the bathrooms to give ‘em a once over when he gets in.” 

He patted Mickey’s shoulder as he passed him and moved out from the back of the bar area. He waved goodbye and pushed open the front door to leave. Mickey glanced around the bar, surveying the clientele. Richie was right, it was pretty quiet at that moment. A couple of guys in a back booth who looked like they were about one more drink from winding up together in the bathroom, a regular named Rob at the end of the bar who would go to his own job later and transform into Reyna, a few guys at a high top who looked to be around his own age. Mickey moved over to Rob to see if he needed a refill, wiping the bar top as he went.

If someone had told him a few years ago that he would be bartending at a gay bar in Boystown, he would have probably laughed in their face. But then, there were many things about Mickey’s life that he still couldn’t believe, and he was the one living it. Mickey liked this place though. It was unassuming, it wasn’t flashy. It was the kind of place where he felt like he fit in. All the creature comforts of a divey southside bar with none of the bigotry. And the money was pretty decent, which he couldn’t argue with.

He heard the bell above the door jingle and he looked up to see George entering, the barback and general go-to guy. They nodded at each other in greeting as he moved through the room much like Mickey had just a few short minutes before.

“Richie told me to send you on bathroom patrol,” Mickey told him, earning a nod in return.

George was easy enough to work with. He did what was asked with little to no complaint and wasn’t much of a talker, which suited Mickey just fine. The door jingled again, and this time a few women came in and made their way to a booth. It was right around quitting time for the nine to five crowd, so Mickey knew they would soon start filing in more steadily. He gave the women a few minutes to settle in before going over to greet them and get their orders. The waiters for the night, Andre and Taylor, also arrived and started handling the table service, leaving Mickey to deal with the bar just as he preferred.

The evening picked up and the stream of people continued, and Mickey found that was the only reason he could give for how he almost missed the redhead who had settled in near the front corner of the bar. He was tall and lean, hair a touch longer on top with a bit of wave, clad in fitted jeans and a leather jacket that definitely wouldn’t have been warm enough even a month ago. But spring was in full effect, and Mickey appreciated it, because the view was that much better when everyone wasn’t all bundled up. He moved over to the guy and put a drink napkin down in front of him.

“Getcha anything?” Mickey asked.   


Upon closer inspection, the guy looked around his own age and had a light dusting of freckles scattered across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He was gazing up at the list of beers on tap that was written on the chalkboard behind the bar.

“I’ll take a Stella,” Red replied. 

Mickey nodded and pulled a glass from under the bar top, tilting it under the tap as he turned it on. He watched until it was filled up and flipped the tap off, placing the drink and taking the money Red offered him.

“Thanks,” he smiled when Mickey returned with his change. Mickey gave him a brief nod and moved back to another customer who was waiting for him. By the time he got back, Red was gone but had left a nice tip in his place. Mickey glanced around and spotted him with an older gentleman in a booth next to the front door. He snorted to himself and grabbed the tip money, shoving it into the jar next to the register to count out later.

\----------

“Theo has been working on his dissertation and using me as a sounding board, and all he’s doing is  _ boring _ me,” Ian’s date, Nathan, complained. Ian didn’t have the heart to tell Nathan that he was feeling quite the same way about him. He hadn’t really been interested in the date with Nathan to begin with, had been trying to break his pattern of dating older or wildly inappropriate men, but Nathan had been pursuing Ian for ages and Ian had finally figured it might just be easier to go and get it over with. He nodded as if he was listening while he took a sip of his beer and glanced towards the bar.

Ian watched the bartender for a moment. Everything about him stuck out like a sore thumb. His mildly surly expression, his finger tattoos, the shock of jet black hair, his defensive stance as if he was waiting for something to happen. He looked like he would have been more comfortable playing bouncer outside, but there he was, pouring a line of shots for some patrons and smiling when one of them said something to him.

That smile. It was like Ian was looking at a totally different person. He got caught up in watching him for another long moment before he remembered that Nathan was still talking and he tuned back in.

Nathan grabbed a few of the french fries he’d ordered and shoved them in his mouth, talking around them. “I know he’s progressive and all, but who wants to hear a  _ straight man _ talking about gender politics anyway? This is going to be a disaster!”

Ian hummed as if to agree. He had finished his beer and casually checked his watch. He had about an hour before he had to take his nightly med dose, and after that he just wanted to be in bed honestly. No time like the present to make a run for it. 

He reached for his jacket, which was next to him in the booth, sliding out and putting it on. “Hey Nathan, I’m so sorry, I just realized that I’m on the early morning shift tomorrow. I’ve gotta run.”

Nathan was very obviously taken aback. “What? But we just got here.”

“I know and I’m sorry,” Ian said with a quick shrug. “But if I don’t head home now and get to bed early I’ll be all messed up for my shift tomorrow.”

“Uh, okay. Rain check?” Nathan asked.

Ian nodded. “I’ll text you.”

Before Nathan could even contemplate how to say goodbye to Ian, he was gone. Nathan just sat in the booth, bewildered, while he finished his own drink.

\----------

Mickey was exhausted.

He sat on the bus, the very long bus ride home from the bar. This was the part of the job that he hated. Because by the time he closed at 2, counted out, tipped out to the rest of the staff, locked up and finally caught a bus, Mickey wouldn’t get home until at least 4am. If he was lucky. Mickey was tired of working like a dog, physically exhausted, but on nights like this he just told himself that it would be worth it in the long run. Sometimes he would repeat that mantra over and over. It would be worth it. It had to be. For him to be able to better himself, take care of himself, take care of his family… It had to be.

When he had still been living with his family in the Milkovich house, running guns and drugs and schemes had been his second nature. But Mickey wanted better for himself and Svetlana demanded better for Yevgeny. When Mickey looked into his eyes, now six years old and in kindergarten, he knew he owed his son better than he had been given, and it gave him just enough push to deal with those tough days.

He gazed down at the book that was open in his lap, but he was tired and the words blurred on the page. On a good night, Mickey could sometimes get a nice amount of reading done during his ride home. This time, though, his eyes closed and he found himself nodding off. Mickey’s mind wandered to the day’s events. He found himself thinking about that redhead from the bar earlier. Good looking men were a dime a dozen in Boystown, but for some reason this one stuck with him. 

“Guy? Hey, we’re at your stop. Up and at ‘em.”

Mickey roused at the driver’s voice, looking up and realizing that he had dozed off a bit heavier than intended. He closed his book and shoved it in his bag, rushing to get off before the driver gave him shit about holding up the schedule. He threw the driver a wave and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Mickey relished in how quiet the street was at this time of night. While he was still in the southside, they had moved far enough west to a part of the area where the streets were quieter and Mickey didn’t feel the need to look over his shoulder so much. He dug around in his pocket until he found his keys and palmed them until he got to the front of their house. 

Mickey moved around to the back door and let himself in, moving down the steps to their basement apartment. It wasn’t an ideal setup, living in someone’s basement, but the old lady who owned the place charged them a pittance for rent since they did a lot of errands and favors for her, and, while all of the rooms were small, there was a separate bedroom for all three of them. It was temporary. And hell, as always, it could be worse.

He tiptoed through their combined living/dining/kitchen area, stopping for a moment to peel back the saran wrap on a plate waiting for him on the stove. Roasted chicken and rice. He moved into his own bedroom and dropped off his bag and coat, toeing off his shoes and kicking them towards his dresser. He moved back into the common area, grabbing a clean fork from the dish rack on the counter and the plate Svetlana had left out for him. Mickey dropped down onto the couch and turned on the TV, keeping the volume low as not to disturb anyone. He found a channel that wasn’t airing infomercials and half watched it while he ate his leftovers. 

Later, a hand brushed over his hair, and Mickey woke with a start. He saw Svetlana standing over him, in the pale light coming through the window. He must have been out for a bit if the sun was already up.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” She asked him.

“Wanted to get the kid up, hardly seen him this week.” Mickey told her.

Svetlana smiled at him and nodded. “I’ll take shower and get ready for work. You get him up and fed, yes?”

Mickey hummed his agreement and pushed himself off the couch, taking his dirty plate from before and depositing it in the sink to be dealt with later. He went over to Yevgeny’s door and pushed it open quietly, taking in the sight of his son spread out like a starfish on the mattress. He’d kicked the blanket off the bed and onto the floor. He was wearing Star Wars pajamas that Mickey had gotten him for Christmas, already on the verge of being too small.  _ Kid’s growing like a weed _ , Mickey thought affectionately. His head was sideways on his pillow, a small spot of drool next to his mouth. He felt his heart swell at the sight of his son, so at ease in his sleep. Mickey had never slept like that as a child.

He crouched down next to the bed so that he would be at Yevgeny’s eye level, placing a hand on the boy’s chest and rocking lightly. “Kiddo, time to get up for school.”

Yevgeny made a small noise, fighting against having to wake up. He curled his body towards Mickey and shuffled closer to the edge of the bed. Mickey ran a hand over his hair and kissed his temple. “C’mon, Yev. Don’t make me give you the tickle alarm.”

His son whined a little at that, but also smiled, and Mickey knew he had him. He slid his hands under Yevgeny, one under the shoulders and one in the crook of his knees, and he scooped the boy off the bed and into his arms. His son burrowed his face into Mickey’s shoulder, giggling. Mickey carried him into the common area and sat him down at the little dinette table.

“What do you want for breakfast, bud?” Mickey asked.

“Can I have pancakes?”

He glanced sideways at his son, remembering an incident just the week before. “Are you going to cover yourself in syrup like the last time? We don’t have time for that today.”

“No,” Yevgeny said, drawing out the word.

“Are you  _ sure _ ?” Mickey teased.

“I promise, Papa!” Yevgeny replied earnestly.

“Fine,” Mickey agreed, already moving to take out a container of the mix and shake pancake batter powder. He opened it and stuck it under the faucet to add some water, closing the lid and shaking it hard to get rid of any lumps. “Get the butter and syrup out of the fridge.”

Yevgeny obliged, getting out of his chair and moving to the refrigerator. Mickey heated the pan and poured out a few pancakes, standing by and waiting for them to bubble up so he could flip them. When they were done, Mickey plated them and grabbed a fork and put them on the table. Yevgeny eagerly started eating his food and Mickey just watched him for a moment. He had his mother’s brown hair and angled chin, and his father’s blue eyes, nose, mouth and expressions. Mickey always felt a pleasant twist in his gut when Yevgeny got really opinionated about something and his eyebrows did most of the talking for him. He was definitely expressive like his father, though sweeter.

Mickey heard the bathroom door open and Svetlana moving behind him. He heard drawers open and close and soon Svetlana joined them, dropping a kiss on the top of her son’s head and speaking to him in Russian.

“Ты доставил отцу неприятные минуты сегодня утром?” She asked.

“Нет.” He replied.

“I asked him if he gives you hard time this morning, he says no.” Svetlana translated for him.

“Nah, he was good.” Mickey confirmed.

Living together for seven years and counting, Mickey was starting to finally pick up on snippets of the Russian that Svetlana would speak with their son or her friends, but he was still nowhere near conversational. Where she used to use this against him to keep him out of the loop, she now often translated as she went. 

Yevgeny had finished his food and was dragging his fork through the excess syrup pooled in the plate. Svetlana deftly took them away from him and moved to wash them in the sink.

“I left your clothes for school on your bed. Brush your teeth and get dressed, we have to leave.”

He nodded and slid from his chair, running across the room and into the bathroom. Mickey and Svetlana smiled at each other, always in awe of their son’s energy. They listened while Yevgeny moved back into his room and got dressed and soon he emerged wearing everything except his sneakers, which were in his hand. He walked over to Mickey, who crouched down and took the shoes from him. Yevgeny steadied himself with a hand on his father’s shoulder while Mickey helped him put the shoes on and tied them. They had been working with him on learning to tie his shoes, but his little fingers hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it yet. When both feet were done, Svetlana helped him into his coat and grabbed his bookbag from the back of the chair where she had left it.

“Say goodbye to Papa,” she told him.

Yevgeny leaned forward and Mickey, still in his crouched position, pulled his son close and hugged him. “Have a good day at school, aight?”

He nodded. “Papa, are you gonna be home later?” His voice was quiet, obviously not wanting to upset his dad but unable to stop himself from asking.

Mickey’s stomach twisted, knowing that he wasn’t getting to spend the time with Yev lately that he wanted to. But today was a stroke of luck. “Good news,” he said cheerfully. “No work tonight, so I shouldn’t be home late. We should be able to all have dinner together.”

Yev’s eyes lit up. “Really?!”

“Yup!” Mickey confirmed. “Now go on, get outta here. Before you know it, Mom will be picking you up from after school and we’ll all be right back here eatin’.”

He squeezed Yev a little tighter before letting him go and nudging him towards Svetlana. Mickey watched them leave, throwing one last wave to Yevgeny when he looked back at his dad. Then, the apartment was quiet. Mickey went into his room and stripped down to his boxers, throwing his dirty clothes in his hamper and sliding under the sheets. Time to get a few hours of shut eye before he had to get up and go all over again.

\----------

Ian pushed his way inside the Gallagher house, already working on unbuttoning his uniform shirt as he dragged himself through the living room. He crossed the doorway into the kitchen and was greeted by the sight of Fiona peeling potatoes at the kitchen counter.

“Jesus, you look like shit.” She greeted him nonchalantly. “Rough day?”

Ian shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and pulled his undershirt off right behind it. “You try wrestling with a tweaker.” 

Fiona grimaced at that as Ian continued to take off his clothes, stripping down until there was nothing left but his boxers. “If you’re going to strip here in the kitchen anyway, can you at least throw in other people’s shit too and do a load?”

He nodded, scooping his discarded clothes off the floor and dumping them in the washing machine. He grabbed other clothes out of the nearby basket, filling the machine to the top and throwing in a detergent pod. Ian turned on the water and shuffled up the back stairs. He turned on the shower and hopped in, washing the day off of him. 

Ian emerged and got dressed, heading back down to see if Fiona needed any help getting dinner together. Granted, she wasn't cooking for the same big crowd she was used to, but there were still enough people to go around.

“Need a hand?” Ian asked as he got down the stairs. 

Fiona pointed with the spoon she was holding. “Put those clothes in the dryer and then we’ll see.”

He did as she asked, separating a few of the items to air dry and tossing the rest into the next machine. When Ian was done with that, he sat at the kitchen counter and Fiona passed him a bag of fresh green beans. 

“Snap the ends off, toss ‘em in the pot. Want a beer?”

Ian started picking at the beans. “I'm good, thanks.”

“Oh c’mon,” Fiona urged. “One of us has to hold down the fort and have a little fun now that I'm ‘sober, party of two’ over here.”

She ghosted her hand over her abdomen, not yet showing the growing surprise she had inside. Fiona was due around Christmas, and as happy as Ian was for his sister, he was not looking forward to being woken up at all hours of the night when his future niece or nephew started crying. He was already making plans to try to save up some more money for a place of his own before the baby came. Ian figured eight months or so should be more than enough time to get his shit sorted.

Everyone had been surprised that Fiona decided to keep the baby, especially considering her thoughts on having raised her own siblings and the fact that she had finally gotten a third of them out of the house. But she was in a happy relationship with a normal guy named Tom and she didn't really seem to crave that chaos as she once did. 

Ian chuckled and said, “Just keep counting down the weeks, it'll be over before you know it.”

“I'm keeping a tally on my wall,” she deadpanned.

She reached over and grabbed the pot he had been dropping the beans in, filling it with water and setting it on the stove to boil. They made small talk as they finished all of the dinner prep and soon the house started filling with more bodies and voices the closer it came time to eat. It would probably never match the boisterousness of the old days, but they did alright at holding it down. 

Lip was in Silicon Valley, working at some tech startup doing shit that none of them understood. He used to try to tell them about his projects but gave up after the umpteenth time of being met with blank stares from his younger siblings and confused but encouraging nods and smiles from Fiona. Debbie had gotten back on track after her troubled freshman year of high school and had gotten numerous scholarship offers for college, electing to go to a school in Pennsylvania. The distance had done wonders, and she was top of her class. They both got home for holidays when they could, but their absence was definitely felt.

They heard the front door and Liam burst in, throwing his coat and hat on the floor. He was ten years old, tall and thin like a beanpole. Everyone already thought he might be the one to top Ian in height. He ran into the kitchen, about to flop down in a chair at the kitchen table before he was snagged around the waist by Ian and turned around.

“Whoa there, bud! Get back in there and hang that stuff up, you know better. And then go wash your hands for dinner.”

Liam groaned but listened as Ian nudged him back in the direction he’d come from. When his things were hung up on the hooks by the door, he came back and washed his hands at the kitchen sink. He received an affectionate ruffle of his curls from Fiona and she handed him a bowl of mashed potatoes to put on the table.

“You have fun with the boys?” She asked.

He nodded eagerly, launching into a detailed run through of everything he and his friends down the block did while he was at their house. Ian and Fiona grabbed the rest of the food and put it on the table, sitting down and nodding along as he chattered on about some new video game they had and all of the characters. 

“Oh!” Fiona exclaimed, a bite of chicken still in her mouth. “Before I forget again, whatever happened with that date you went on last week, Ian? What was his name?”

“Nathan,” Ian sighed. “And he was a dud, which I expected. Had one drink and begged off. Told him I had an early shift the next day just so I could get the hell out of there.”

“Ouch! Couldn’t even stay for another?”

Ian took a sip of his water. “Well if I had, I’d have probably gotten caught staring at the hot bartender who was working there.”

“Ooh, hot bartender! Was he a card carrying AARP member?” Fiona’s voice was just the right amount of teasing. “Maybe you can ask him out and get a senior citizen discount at a restaurant!”

Liam snickered, the little traitor. Even he knew about his brother’s penchant for dating much older men.

Ian shook his head. “Nope, this one was young. Like around my age.”

Fiona feigned shock, clutching her chest dramatically while Liam laughed even harder. “It can’t be! Ian with an  _ age appropriate _ love interest? Hell must've froze over!”

He stood up dramatically, clearing his dirty plate and putting it in the sink. “Oh sure, sure.  _ This _ coming from Miss Fiona, who has dated every bad boy in the entire state.”

“Got me there,” Fiona shrugged. She stood up, grabbing her and Liam’s dishes and moving next to Ian. She bumped him as she passed by. “Go get that bartender. You’re my lifeline, I’ve got to live vicariously through you, baby brother.”

He snorted a laugh, but the idea of going back and seeing that bartender again really didn’t sound like a terrible idea.

_ And he tried. Boy, did he try. _

Ian went back to that bar on two separate occasions to no avail. The dark haired bartender was nowhere to be found. Weeks passed by and Ian had all but forgotten about him. Work had been particularly busy, which wasn’t a surprise in the world of being an EMT. But there had been a larger than normal number of strange cases, and he and his coworkers had started joking about everyone having spring fever. Ian had been coming home after every shift totally exhausted and didn’t have the concentration to focus on much else besides that. 

In fact, when Ian met and agreed to a date with Greg, a handsome businessman he’d met during his lunch break one day, he didn’t even think about the irony of meeting the guy at The Lookout. Ian was off the next day, and was looking forward to not having to worry about what time he had to be home by to be up for work. He walked into the bar, scanning the room for his date, who wasn’t there yet. But he froze when he saw who  _ was _ there. The bartender was back behind the counter counting change out and placing it in front of a middle aged man on the far end of the bar. 

Ian hesitated for a moment before deciding to wait at the bar. He pulled out an open stool and sat down. The bartender looked in his direction and Ian could swear he saw a flash of recognition in the man’s eyes before he walked over and greeted him. 

“What can I get ya?” The bartender was already busying his hands, placing a napkin in front of Ian and sliding someone’s tip money off the bar top and into his hand.

He could see that the knuckle tattoos were letters, and Ian caught himself trying to read what they said, but those hands were constantly in motion and he wasn’t able to catch it. Ian wanted to try to draw the conversation out somehow. 

“Do you have any good seasonal beers you can recommend?”

Ian cursed himself silently when the bartender’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Apparently, he wasn’t one for seasonal beers and Ian probably sounded like a bougie asshole to him. 

“Gotta tell you, I don’t know shit about ‘seasonal’ beers.” The bartender made air quotes around the apparently offensive word. “However, my boss’d probably recommended you something from one of the Illinois breweries that we carry.”

Desperate to make the moment less awkward, Ian nodded excitedly. “Great, sure! Pick one for me, I trust your judgment.”

The guy eyed him suspiciously for a moment before slowly nodding and bending down to fish a bottle out of the ice below him. He wiped the condensation off the outside and grabbed a bottle opener, expertly flipping the bottle cap off and putting the bottle in front of Ian. He tentatively took a sip and nodded his approval. It was actually pretty good.

The bartender smiled softly and moved away to check on the other customers. Ian took out his wallet and put his money down. When the bartender came back, he picked it up and brought it to the register to make change. As he brought the rest back, Ian decided to try to have another stab at conversation.

“Beer’s pretty good.”

The dark haired man nodded and said, “Figured it couldn’t be too shitty, it sells well enough.”

Ian chuckled at that. “So they don’t make you learn all the seasonal stuff?”

That earned a shrug in response. “Eh, he knows who he hired for the job. It’s just a job, not like I wanna make a career out of this. Just payin’ the bills, ya know?”

He’d had a few of those in his life, and Ian nodded his understanding. He was about to ask what the guy was planning for his career when he felt a gentle hand on his back. He turned around and there was Greg. Suddenly, he wasn’t as handsome as Ian had remembered.

“Hey, sorry I’m late, crazy day at work!” Greg greeted him enthusiastically. “Should we grab a table and order some food?”

“Uh, sure.” Ian found himself glancing over at the bartender, as if he should somehow approve of this. The guy was watching the exchange quietly, eyebrows raised in understanding. He smirked to himself and moved down the length of the bar, wiping it with his dishrag. 

Ian’s chest felt heavy with a sigh that couldn’t be released. He had been so close to breaking the surface and Greg had to show up and ruin that. Not that it was Greg’s fault, not really anyway, but Ian was all too happy to blame him in that moment. He got up from his stool, leaving a few bills on the counter and following Greg to a table about midway across the length of the bar. 

He knew it was shitty, but Ian made sure to sit where he could watch the bartender. Unfortunately for Greg, his chances had been shot to hell the minute Ian walked in and saw that guy working. As if that wasn’t enough, the bar was slow that day and there didn’t seem to be any waiters working. Much to Ian’s chagrin, after they had settled in at their table, that same bartender came over and brought them menus.

Greg ordered himself a drink and tried to get one for Ian, who begged off since he still hadn’t finished the one he had. He wasn’t ready to explain to his date that he was on medications that would make any more alcohol a problem, and he hoped that once they ordered food, Greg would just get distracted and forget.

They ate and drank, and much to Ian’s relief, Greg didn’t seem to notice that Ian had switched to soda. The date was fine. Greg was fine. It was all fine. But Ian didn’t want  _ fine _ . He wanted earth shaking, knees quaking. He wanted someone to bowl him over. It was a perfectly decent evening and Ian resented nearly every moment of it except for the view of the raven haired bartender as he went about his own evening. Eventually the night wore on and the date came to an end with promises of a second date that Ian had no intention of keeping. As he followed Greg out, he chanced one last glance back inside and saw the bartender watching him as well.

\----------

The spring weather was beginning to get quite warm. Mickey would have loved to just show up to work in one of his huge, shitty t-shirts with the sleeves cut off and his loosest jeans, but Richie would have definitely had a fit. Besides, Mickey knew that looking good helped his tips, and those ugly ass shirts wouldn’t do him much favor. So there he was, fitted black tee and slim cut blue jeans, cursing his boss for being stingy and not cranking the air conditioners at the first sign of heat. It would cool off soon enough, but opening the bar on a warm day was always enough to annoy him.

Even though closing shifts were a bitch, Mickey still preferred them over opening. The night crew that worked opposite of him never left the bar in as good shape as he did, and Mickey inevitably had any number of stupid tasks added to his list when he opened. On that day in particular, there seemed to be a problem with one of the bathroom toilets that no one had fixed. Thankfully, George was due in at any moment and Mickey decided to let him handle that. 

He set about filling the beer stations with ice and making sure he had enough stocked in the cold space below the bar top to hold over for a bit. He stepped out into the dining area of the bar and started taking chairs down from the tabletops to prepare for seating. As he moved around the room, he heard the door open and George appeared.

“Clean up in aisle nine,” Mickey greeted him.

George groaned at that. “What now?”

“Toilet backed up in the men’s room. Found it that way when I came in.” Mickey avoided his eye, knowing he wouldn't be too happy about that.

“I hate those pricks on the other shift,” George muttered as he headed back to investigate.

“Preachin’ to the choir, my friend.” Mickey replied.

George left Mickey to his own devices as he went to find a plunger. Mickey made his way from one end of the room to the other, opening up all of the tables for service, running the broom across the floor one last time. He made his way back behind the bar and double checked that he had everything he needed when he noticed that they were low on lemons and limes for the drinks. Grumbling to himself, Mickey went into the kitchen to fetch some so he could cut them up.

Mickey had a good rhythm going, moving and cutting the fruit as swiftly as he could. He heard the bell above the door jingle as someone walked in.

He didn’t even spare a glance up. “We’re closed.” 

An older man’s voice spoke up. “The door was open.”

Mickey gave a half hearted shrug at that. “We’re still closed. Come back later or don’t. Y’know, whatever.”

With a huff, the man walked back out. Mickey continued preparing the fruit slices, spacing out until he heard the bell for the second time.

Now Mickey was annoyed, and he showed it. “I  _ said  _ we’re closed, asshole. If you’re that thirsty, there’s three other places within a block of this one.”

“That’s a shame,” an unfamiliar voice replied.

When Mickey looked up, he saw a redheaded man.  _ The _ redheaded man, the very same one who had been in here a handful of times and given Mickey such a good view. In his distraction, he forgot to stop cutting the fruit until all of a sudden he felt a sharp pain.

“Fuck!” He cried out as he realized he’d sliced his hand pretty good. He fumbled around for a cloth as his hand oozed blood. At that, the redhead rushed behind the bar and reached for him.

“Let me help,” he insisted.

Mickey pulled his hand back to his chest. “Fuck are you going to do?”

The man reached over and grabbed the hand towel, squeezing it to Mickey’s wound. “I’m an EMT, for one. Here, hold that in place, hold it tight.”

Mickey watched as he pulled his bag off his shoulder and put it on the bar, opening it and digging through until he pulled out a small first aid kit. He opened it up and came up with some peroxide. He unscrewed it and looked at Mickey.

“This is gonna sting.”

Mickey nodded and the redhead held his bleeding hand over the sink and poured the peroxide on.  _ Fuck _ ! He sucked air through his teeth, hissing in pain while the other man grabbed a roll of paper towels and tore a few off. He took Mickey’s hand and gently wiped off the excess peroxide, squeezing the cut again. 

“Doesn’t look too deep at least,” he told Mickey. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches. Should be able to just wrap it up and be fine. Can I?”

Mickey felt uneasy at the closeness of this stranger in his space. It felt oddly intimate. He looked away and nodded his agreement. He felt rather than saw the gauze being placed over his wound and the wrapping put around it to keep it in place. It didn’t take more than a minute or two, and when it was over, the stranger stood there for a moment, Mickey’s hand still in his.

\----------

He looked up and Ian’s breath caught in his throat. He had the bluest eyes. There was something so intensely familiar about the color, though he knew he’d never seen anyone with eyes like that before. No way he could forget that sight.

“Okay?” Ian asked him. There was something in the air. It was weird, but not unpleasant. Judging by the look on the bartender’s face, he seemed to feel it too. 

“Uh, yeah thanks. You want a beer?”

“Sure.” There was an awkward pause before it occurred to Ian that he really shouldn’t be behind the bar anymore. “Oh, right.” He shoved his first aid kit in his bag and grabbed it, moving back around the bar and sitting at a stool directly in front of the bartender.

The bartender slid over his drink and Ian reached for his wallet. “Nah, this one’s on me.”

“Thanks,” he replied. “I’m Ian.”

The bartender nodded. “Mickey.”

They smiled briefly at each other, the moment interrupted by a customer coming in. He greeted Mickey and went over to a back booth. The guy must have been a regular, because he immediately started making a drink and brought it over with no discussion. Ian nursed his drink and watched Mickey at work. More people started trickling in and Mickey got busier. Ian left him alone, not wanting to be a further distraction. He thought he may have caught a few glances in his direction, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

Things hit a lull and suddenly Mickey was over talking to him again. “It’s real nice, y’know, that you do charity work.”

Ian had no idea what the hell he was talking about. “What? Charity work?”

“Yeah,” Mickey replied with a twinkle in his eye. “You know, taking those senior citizens out of the nursing home for a day around Chicago, bringing them out. Very kind of you.”

It took a moment before Ian realized that Mickey was referring to his dates. “Oh fuck off!” He said with a laugh. “Those guys weren’t that old!”

“Not if you like geriatric viagroids, anyway.” Mickey snickered at his own joke.

For some reason, Ian had a flash of Ned run through his mind. Shit, Ian hadn’t thought about him in years. Sure, he’d had a tendency to date much older men, and he’d gotten plenty of shit for it. But he was putting that all behind him. He hadn’t really been into it in a long time, and here was this young, hot guy that Ian was much more interested in.

“I’d rather take you out,” he said, cocky smirk on his face. 

That stopped Mickey in his tracks. “What, like on a date? Aren’t I a bit young for you? I might have a grandpa still alive out there I can set you up with.”

“I’m serious!” Ian proclaimed. 

“Who says I’m even gay?” Mickey challenged.

Now that was just ridiculous, and he scowled at that. “Really? You work at a gay bar called The Lookout in  _ Boystown _ . This isn’t a stretch.”

Mickey bit his lip. “Dates aren’t really my thing.”

_ Holy shit, he’s nervous. _ Ian hadn’t picked up on it right away, but when he did it was glaringly obvious. Mickey must not be the type who dated much, which Ian found absurd because  _ look at him _ . But he wasn’t going to give him shit, not if he wanted Mickey to actually say yes.

“Doesn’t need to be anything fancy. Maybe pizza, maybe burgers, definitely beer. C’mon, it’s fun. What’s wrong with fun?”

Mickey looked at him a little funny when he said that, but ultimately relented. “A’right tough guy, I’ll let you buy me pizza or some shit. Drive a hard bargain.” He took out his phone and slid it over to Ian. “Gimme your number, we’ll start there.”

\----------

True to Ian’s word, he didn’t try to take Mickey anywhere fancy. The following week, their scheduled worked out and they found themselves at a little greasy spoon type of place right outside of Boystown, not too far from Mickey’s job. Mickey was more relieved than he liked to admit. It wasn’t that he’d never been on dates, but putting in all that extra effort made him uncomfortable. Besides, he’d never really liked anyone enough to want to suck it up. Mickey had put some thought into looking presentable, though. He didn’t want Ian to think he was a total slob.

They sat at a small booth, menus in front of them. Ian had already made sure to tell him that the place was known for their burgers and Mickey was scanning the menu to pick just the right one. They ordered their drinks and food and were left alone for a spell to chat and get to know each other.

“So, you’re an EMT. How’d you get into that?” Mickey asked him.

“Well that’s not really a first date story,” Ian admitted. “But I’ll say that I was in a situation one time where I needed help and they got to me in time. I was lucky for it. Kind of inspired me I guess. To help people, ya know?”

Mickey nodded. “That’s cool, have you been doing it for awhile?”

“Couple of years. Been thinking of going for paramedic next.” Ian admitted, a bit shyly.

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“Similar, but no.” Ian replied. “Paramedic’s more school and certifications, but there’s more you’re allowed to do to help a patient than you can do as an EMT.” He took a sip of his drink and changed the focus on to Mickey. “How about you? You said once that bartending wasn’t a career thing for you, what are you looking to do?”

Mickey was puzzled. “Did I say that?”

Ian nodded. “Yea, one of the times I was in the bar before I asked you out.”

“Huh. Good memory.” Mickey was flattered that Ian actually remembered anything he’d said before that last time they saw each other. “Actually, I’m in school right now. For medical billing and coding.”

“Really? Where are you taking classes?” Ian asked.

Mickey vaguely gestured with his hand and said, “Over at Malcolm X.”

Ian’s eyes lit up. “Get out! That’s where I was planning to enroll for my paramedic courses. Maybe we can be study buddies.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and laughed. He would much rather be studying Ian than studying  _ with _ Ian. He took a moment to take in the sight of his date. Ian wasn’t handsome in a classical sense, but he was definitely good looking. He had an angular jaw, a little bit off-center in a very charming way. His green eyes were flecked with gold. Mickey wouldn’t mind getting lost in them for hours. He had noticed the freckles dusting Ian’s cheeks, but now being out together during the daytime, Mickey could see that his arms were peppered with them too. He couldn’t help but wonder about the rest of his body. He hoped he’d get to find out.

“How’d you wind up doing that?” Ian asked.

“I’ve always had a head for numbers.” Mickey replied. “When I was growing up, my dad used to run drugs and weapons and shit. I was always the numbers guy. No one else was any good at it. When I got my shit together, figured maybe I could put that to good use. Wanted a good job, steady pay. For my kid.”

“You have a kid.” It was a statement, not a question, and Mickey was a bit embarrassed that he hadn’t mentioned it before. 

“Yeah, and a wife.” He raised his hands defensively when he saw Ian was about to speak. “It’s not what you think, it was a convenience thing. I got her a green card, she got my homophobic dad off my back.”

Ian paused for a moment, mulling it all over. “Okay. I get the marriage part, but I’m surprised you guys had a kid.”

“Well… That’s really not a first date story either.” Mickey’s gaze drifted away for a moment, lost in thought, and he reeled himself back in. “Anyway, he’s a great kid. Smart as shit, good heart, well-behaved. Nothing like me in other words.” He chuckled at that.

“I’m sure he’s plenty like you,” Ian said, matching his laugh. 

The food arrived and offered a bit of a reprieve from the heavy direction the conversation had been heading in. It lived up to the hype, and Ian laughed at the moans that Mickey was making while he ate. When lunch was done and Ian had paid the bill, they left the restaurant and stood outside. 

Mickey pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “You mind if I smoke?”

Ian shook his head. “Nah, I do sometimes.”

Mickey nodded and placed a cigarette between his lips, lighting it and taking a deep drag.  _ Jesus, he even makes this look like art, _ Ian couldn’t help but think. The sight of his knuckle tattoos caught Ian’s eye again, and this time he decided to be bold and get a better look. He reached over and took Mickey’s hand, mindful of the lit cigarette he was still holding. FUCK. He rubbed the F gently with his thumb and reached for Mickey’s left hand with his own free one. U-UP.

“Fuck you up, huh?” Ian asked, keeping his hold on Mickey’s hands.

“Mmhmm.” Mickey hummed in agreement.

“You fuck a lotta people up?” He whispered. Something about the idea of Mickey being rough and tumble was really doing it for him. 

Mickey shrugged one shoulder. “My fair share. Southside, you know? Do what ya gotta do, right?”

Ian met his gaze, the two of them lost in the moment. They could have gotten hit by a bus and it was very possible neither one of them would have even noticed. He felt drawn to Mickey, like when they were together nothing else existed. He leaned in but hesitated when he was right about to kiss Mickey.  He knew those Southside roots ran deep, and he didn’t want Mickey to freak about being out in public. But Mickey tilted his chin up and kept looking at Ian, watching, waiting. He didn’t pull back, or run, or push Ian away from him. It was a silent challenge, a little defiant, and totally hot. Ian let go of Mickey's hands and placed his own hands on either side of Mickey’s face, his thumbs lightly tracing Mickey’s cheekbones. 

Ian pressed their lips together, losing himself instantly. Mickey’s lips were warm and full and soft against his own. He felt Mickey's hands at his waist, fisting into the material of his t-shirt and holding him close. When Mickey parted his lips, Ian took the opportunity and deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue into Mickey's mouth. They stood there, oblivious to anything around them except each other, Ian backing Mickey against the wall and crowding him. He just wanted to be near Mickey, as close as possible. Eventually, Ian pulled back just the slightest bit to catch his breath, resting his forehead on Mickey's.

“Jesus,” he breathed out.

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed, sounding just as wrecked.

“I wanna see you again,” Ian told him.

Mickey felt a stirring of excitement. He definitely wanted another date with Ian. “Okay.”

“Okay? That's all I get?” Ian teased.

Mickey hit him playfully on the shoulder. “I'd like that,  _ okay _ ? I'll even treat next time.”

“Deal.” Ian smiled.

\----------

Svetlana searched through Yevgeny’s drawers, apparently looking for some specific outfit she wanted to pack for him. Mickey lingered in the doorway, watching her move around the room.

“And how long will you guys be gone again?” He asked.

“Just for weekend,” Svetlana told him for what felt like the millionth time. “We go, we see Nika and baby, we leave.”

It had been quite some time since Svetlana and the other girls had been involved in prostitution, most of them moving on to regular lives. They didn't talk all the time, but Svetlana still considered those women her friends, particularly Nika and Raisa. So when Nika, who was living the American dream in the suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio, had had a baby, Svetlana knew she wanted to take Yevgeny for a visit. It would be his first weekend away from home, away from Mickey, and both father and son struggled a little with the idea.

“Misha, it will be fine. I will call you when we get there and again for Yevgeny to say goodnight.”

“Yeah, I know.” He scowled, trying to reassure himself more than her. 

She finally found what she was looking for and tucked it into her son’s small travel bag. 

“Zhenya, go to bathroom, we leave soon.” She called across the apartment. They heard his little steps as he got off the couch and did as he was told.

Svetlana leaned in close to Mickey so their son wouldn't overhear her. “Maybe you should invite man friend to spend weekend. At least then you won't think about us the whole time.”

His ears burned hot and red with embarrassment at the idea. He remembered why he hadn't been too thrilled at the idea of telling Svetlana about it. Because as soon as he had come clean, he hadn't heard the end of it since. 

“Get out of here with that,” Mickey told her with a wave of disdain.

“I am serious,” she insisted. “It will be good. Have him over.”

He and Ian had been seeing each other for a couple of months, but Mickey was leery of bringing him into his home. They didn't  _ have _ company. Their home was their sanctuary. Most of his own family didn't even know where they lived. Mickey liked Ian a lot, but coming to his  _ home?  _ That was huge.

“Yeah, yeah, we'll see.” Mickey dismissed the idea, though the seed was already planted.

Yevgeny emerged from the bathroom and Svetlana waved him over. “Time to go, say goodbye.”

He came over and hugged Mickey around the knees. “Bye Papa. I wish you could come.”

Mickey brushed his son's hair back and said, “Me too, kid. But you and your mom are gonna have a great time, and it'll only be a couple days. You gonna be good for her?” Yevgeny nodded earnestly and Mickey smiled. “Yeah, I know you will. I'll talk to you later tonight.”

Svetlana took their son's hand and led him out, but not before turning back and mouthing  _ call him _ while imitating a phone with her hand. Mickey gave her the finger in response.

He made it all of an hour before he took out his phone and shot off a text.

_ M: Free house this weekend. Want to come over and spend it with me? _

_ I: Was I just invited to a sleepover? _

_ M: Fuck you is what you were invited to _

_ I: I'll bring the beer, text me your address _

Mickey couldn't help but smile as he sent Ian his information, though something about the exchange was tickling his brain. He brushed it off and went to take a shower.

\----------

Ian double checked his phone for Mickey's address, looking to make sure he was on the right street. He had been shocked at Mickey's invitation, but pleasantly surprised. Ian had Mickey over to his own place on a few occasions, rare times when he had the place to himself, but they had never had the luxury of an overnight together, let alone an entire weekend. Ian had felt a giddy excitement when he'd packed himself clothes and necessities for the few days away. He was scheduled to work that Sunday, but had already reached out to a coworker to switch with him. Ian didn't even give a fuck if he had to give up a holiday down the line to make up for it, he wasn't about to pass up his chance at all of this uninterrupted time together.

According to the map on his phone, Ian was on the right street, he just had to go another block or two and he'd be there. Mickey's house was in Sleepy Hollow, west of where Ian lived, closer to Midway Airport. It was still Southside, but definitely a step up. Ian appreciated the look of the tidy houses as he made his way down the street. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and pulled it out to see Mickey had texted him again. 

_ M: Come to the back door when you get here… and that isn't some sorta pun or whatever _

Ian snorted at that and shoved his phone in his jeans pocket. Halfway up the next block, he finally found his destination. He followed the path that led around the side of the house until he'd reached the back door. Shifting the bag with Mickey's beer and his sports drink into his left hand, he raised his right and gave a brisk knock.

There was a muffled sound of feet on stairs and moments later the door opened. Ian felt his heart swell at the sight of Mickey. This was Mickey at home. He was wearing sweats and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. The visual fit the idea Ian had of him when he first saw him at The Lookout months back, the rough around the edges guy. His hair wasn't styled like usual. It looked soft, and a stray lock of it fell over his forehead.

“Hey.” Mickey smiled at him.

“Hi.” Ian felt a weird shyness come over him. It all seemed much more real when he was standing there at Mickey's door.

“Come in,” Mickey insisted, moving back so that Ian could come inside. There was a flight of stairs across from the door and Ian followed Mickey down, shutting the door behind him.

When he got to the bottom, Ian stopped for a moment and surveyed his surroundings. They were standing in the living room, which was tidy and simply decorated. It was combined with the kitchen and small dining areas. Across the room, Ian could see four doors, two open and two closed. 

Mickey watched as Ian looked around, feeling immediately defensive. “I know it's not much.”

“No, it's nice.” Ian smiled at him. “Show me around.”

“I mean, you're kinda lookin’ at it.” Mickey stretched his arms out and did a half turn, surveying the room. He pointed to the two closed doors. “Svetlana’s and Yev’s rooms.” He moved through the small apartment and Ian followed. He pointed at the far right door. “Bathroom.” Finally, he stopped in front of the third door. “And this is my room.”

Ian joined him by the doorway and peeked inside. It was also small, but it was a pretty nice room. The walls were painted a warm blue, the bed and other furniture all stained dark. There was a small tv mounted on the wall opposite of the bed. The top of his dresser was a hodgepodge of things; papers, change, books from his classes, a few framed photos. Ian reached for one and studied it.

“That's Svetlana and Yev.” Mickey supplied, though Ian had assumed as much.

“He looks so much like you,” Ian marveled. 

“I get that a lot,” Mickey replied, the affection and pride clear in his voice.

Listening to how Mickey spoke about his son made Ian feel a pleasant buzz inside. He liked that side of Mickey. Soft, caring. They hadn't talked a whole lot about their pasts, but he knew enough to know that Mickey could have turned out to be a very different person than he had.

Ian put the picture back where he had found it and held the bag out to Mickey. “Should we put these in the fridge to keep ‘em cold?”

Mickey nodded and took the bag. Ian followed him to the kitchen and waited until Mickey's hands were free to sneak closer, wrapping his arms around Mickey from behind.

“Hi.” Ian whispered between kisses behind Mickey's ear.

Mickey hummed and rubbed Ian's arms before managing to turn himself around so they were face to face. They kissed lazily, not feeling any need to rush for once. He let Ian back him against the fridge and rut against him slowly. Mickey's breath rushed out of him in short spurts as he felt himself getting more and more aroused. Ian reached between them and slipped his hand inside the waistband of Mickey's sweats, rubbing him lightly through his boxers. So lightly, the friction wasn't enough. Mickey was so fuckin’ hard, he felt like some young boy about to bust right there in his pants.

“I want you to fuck me,” Mickey growled, reaching for the button on Ian's jeans. He felt his hand being pushed away.

“I will,” Ian murmured against his lips. “But we got all the time in the world. And I'm gonna make you feel so good.”

Mickey moaned at that. Ian was still touching him, whispering about just how good he was going to make him feel, biting his earlobe. Suddenly, Ian's hand was gone from his pants and before Mickey could say anything, Ian had grabbed his legs and hoisted him up. Mickey grabbed on without thinking and let Ian lead them into his bedroom.

Ian managed to toss him onto the bed. Mickey landed with a quiet grunt, rising up on his elbows and watching as Ian pulled his shirt over his head and kicked off his shoes. Next he pulled down his jeans and underwear in one motion and Mickey was left with the view of Ian fully naked at the foot of his bed, as if he wasn't hard enough already.

Ian crawled onto the bed and hovered over Mickey, kissing him deeply. Mickey reached for Ian's cock but had his hand slapped away gently. When he tried again, Ian broke the kiss and distracted him by pulling his shirt off. Ian teased a finger along the waistband of Mickey's pants, tracing a hipbone, sneaking underneath and grazing Mickey's pubic hair. He hooked the sweatpants and pulled them, prompting Mickey to raise his hips off the bed to give him room. Ian moved painstakingly slowly, taking in every breath and gasp and noise that Mickey offered. Ian could see the tenting in Mickey's boxers but was content to keep him waiting while he admired him.

“Ian…” Mickey's voice had a hint of warning, but there was no heat behind it.

He leaned down and kissed the V where Mickey's hip led to his groin. He nosed at Mickey's skin and smelled the faint hint of his soap. Ian felt Mickey squirming under him. He knew he was dragging things out, but he just wanted to lavish Mickey with attention. Ian finally grabbed Mickey's boxers and pulled them down, revealing his erection. Ian had barely touched him, and yet he was already leaking. 

“Fuck,” Ian whispered.

He took Mickey in his hand, grip firm, and stroked him in a slow up and down rhythm. Mickey's head was thrown back, not looking at Ian as he worked him over. He gasped when he felt the warmth and wetness of Ian's tongue on the underside of his cock, licking from his base to the tip, curling around the head to taste his precome. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” Mickey repeated the word like a mantra, struggling to regulate his breathing so he could hold himself together. 

Ian was undeterred. He slid his hands down to the back of Mickey's thighs, above his knees. He pushed Mickey's legs back and admired his spread ass. He dipped his head down and took Mickey into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking as he moved down and back up again. Ian did that for a minute or two, getting more and more aroused by the noises coming from Mickey, until he finally pulled off with a lewd, wet pop. 

Ian turned his head, dropping light kisses on the inside of Mickey's thigh. When he turned his attention back he saw Mickey watching him with lust-filled eyes. Ian held his gaze for a moment until he lowered himself again, but this time he went further down until he was where he wanted to be. Without warning, he licked a long stripe between Mickey's spread cheeks.

“Jesus  _ fuck _ ,” Mickey shouted, struggling to sit up and see what the hell Ian was doing down there.

Ian paused for a moment. “Mick, do you trust me?” He received a shaky nod in response. “Then just lay back and  _ relax _ .”

Undeterred, Ian went back to work eating Mickey out. He teased his tongue around the tight muscle, feeling how hard Mickey was trying to settle down and enjoy it. Ian could only assume that it wasn't something he was used to. Little by little, Ian could feel Mickey giving in to it as he relaxed, his body trembling from the stimulation. He used his tongue to apply more pressure until he could feel Mickey opening up to him. It was an odd but fitting innuendo for them in general. It meant a lot to Ian, the way Mickey was willing to give him trust. He didn't take it lightly, not in sex, not in dating, not at all. Mickey was fighting to keep it together, and Ian decided it was time to give him some reprieve. 

“You got lube?” He asked.

Mickey was just able to reach over to the small nightstand next to him and tug the drawer open. He grabbed the lube as well as a condom and dropped them on the bed. Ian let go of Mickey's legs and let them splay out on the bed as he grabbed the tube and opened it, spreading some on two of his fingers. He wasted no time, inserting them both into Mickey together. He plunged them in and out, admiring how they disappeared from view into Mickey. Ian felt his own breath quickening. His erection, which had flagged a little when he hadn't paid any attention to it, came back in what felt like seconds.

He grabbed the condom, tearing open the wrapper and rolling it onto himself as fast as he could manage. He spread more of the lube over his cock and positioned himself over Mickey. Slowly he entered, careful to give Mickey a chance to adjust. As he began to move, Ian grabbed Mickey's legs and pulled them back up. Mickey wrapped them around Ian's waist, keeping him close. 

Ian managed to snake one arm between Mickey and the mattress, using that elbow and his knees to balance over Mickey while the other hand smoothed Mickey's hair and stroked his cheek. They moved together, Mickey rocking his hips as Ian thrusted into him. He felt Ian's lips on his own, so intimate in that moment. Ian's hand moved away from his face and in between them, wrapping around Mickey's cock and stroking him until he came, Ian still moving inside him. Mickey shuddered, loose and pliant. 

When Ian came, Mickey kept his legs around him, pulling him down. The weight of Ian's body over him was comforting. The feeling of his sweat,  _ their _ sweat, not knowing whose was whose. When he knew Ian wouldn't move, Mickey allowed his legs to fall loosely again. He burrowed his fingers into Ian's hair, scratching his scalp, feeling how damp the copper strands were from his efforts. Ian carefully withdrew from Mickey but stayed on top of him, allowing Mickey to pull him into a doze.

“Hey.” 

Ian felt a light touch on his arm, fingers tracing their way from shoulder to elbow and back again. He opened his eyes and it took him a moment to remember where he was. The light in the room had changed. Ian realized he must have been asleep longer than he thought. He leaned up and saw Mickey watching him.

“Hey.” His voice was raspy with sleep.

“Hungry?” Mickey asked. “Figured we could stay in and order something.”

Ian nodded and slowly rolled off of Mickey to lay next to him. He shivered a little, the air in the apartment cool on his bare skin. He watched as Mickey slid off the bed, stretching and padding out of the room. There was rustling and the sound of a drawer being opened and shut again before Mickey reappeared holding a handful of take out menus.

“Whatcha in the mood for?” Mickey asked.

“I could go for Chinese.” Ian told him.

Mickey nodded and pulled out the right menu, handing it to Ian to look through. He skimmed it briefly and pointed out what he wanted. Mickey grabbed his cell phone and called in the order as he went to put the menus away.

Ian rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in a pillow. He was content to lay there the rest of the night with Mickey. That was until he heard his familiar phone jingle in the other room that let him know it was time to take his nightly medications.  _ Fuck _ . He hadn't meant to not tell Mickey about his bipolar disorder, not really, it just hadn't come up.

Mickey popped his head back into the room. “Your phone’s ringing.”

“It's just an alarm,” Ian told him. “I'll get it in a minute.”

Mickey nodded and disappeared from view again. Ian felt a sense of dread. He knew he needed to tell Mickey the truth, but he was happy to avoid it just a little longer. He got out of the bed and walked out into the main area. Mickey was in the kitchen opening one of the beers Ian brought for him. He turned around and saw Ian looking at him.

“Want one?” Mickey offered.

“Nah,” Ian shook his head. “You mind if I hop in the shower quick?”

Mickey motioned to the door. “Go for it. Towels are on the shelf above the door.”

Ian scanned the room until he spotted his bag. He grabbed it and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Once he had privacy, he dug his prescriptions out of the pocket on his bag and counted out what he needed, tossing the pills in his mouth and drinking directly from the sink faucet to wash them down. He turned on the shower with a sigh and waited for it to warm up. Ian took longer than was really necessary while he tried to think of a way to tell Mickey the truth.

_ Just tell him. _ That's what his doctor would say. Ian knew it should be as simple as that, but he was scared. Because often, it just wasn't that easy. People didn't understand, didn't care, didn't want to bear the burden of being with someone who they felt was damaged somehow. Shit, maybe Ian was projecting, but one failed relationship after another didn't do much to dissuade him from that belief.

By the time Ian finally forced himself out of the shower, his fingers were pruned and the water was cooling off. He dried off and threw on a clear pair of boxers and a t-shirt. When he emerged from the bathroom, he saw Mickey had pulled his own boxers back on and was in the kitchen getting silverware.

“Food’s here.” Mickey told him. “Wanna eat on the couch?

“Sure.” Ian agreed.

Mickey handed Ian the cutlery and grabbed the bag. “I'm gonna have another beer. You want one now?”

“I…” He knows this was his chance to tell Mickey the truth, but still the words stuck in his throat. He had to just spit it out. “I can't really drink.”

“How come?” Mickey sat down on the couch, not seeming to think much of Ian's admission so far.

“Because of medication I'm on.” Ian told him, sitting next to him.

“For what?” Mickey asked.

_ Now or never _ . “You trust me, right?”

That caught Mickey's attention. “Jesus, you're not gonna tell me you got some STD or some shit are you?”

Fuck, he had phrased that all wrong. “No, no!” Ian insisted. “I just…” He felt pinpricks of tears forming in his eyes. He hated that it still got to him like this. “I have bipolar disorder.”

“Bipolar disorder,” Mickey repeated. “What's that have to do with drinking?”

“One beer I get a light buzz, two beers I'm on the floor.” Ian told him.

“Cheap date, huh?” Mickey teased. He stuck his fork into his lo mein carton and went back to eating.

Ian couldn't believe Mickey had no reaction. “That's it?”

Mickey looked up, confusion written in his face. “Um, what else should I be saying?”

“Aren't you going to ask what it is?” He asked incredulously.

“I know what it is.” Mickey told him.

That surprised Ian and he couldn't help but make it obvious. “Really? How?”

That gave Mickey pause. “I don't really remember actually, but I do know what it is. It's a mood disorder.”

“It doesn't bother you?” Ian's voice was low. It was the question he hadn't wanted to ask, was afraid to ask.

Mickey cupped his jaw and waited for Ian to look up at him. “Hey, we all got our shit okay? As long as you're taking care of yourself, that's all you can do.”

Ian leaned forward and kissed Mickey softly. He didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky, but he wasn't about to complain. 

Later, they laid on the couch in the living room together, Ian propped against the arm of the couch with one foot on the floor so that Mickey could rest between his legs. They put a movie on in the background, but neither of them were paying much mind to it. Mickey leaned back against Ian’s chest, letting Ian lull him with a head massage. 

Mickey's phone, left on the floor, began to ring. He managed to lean over enough to grab it without having to get up. He swiped the screen and put it to his head, still lying with Ian, who was listening to his end of the conversation.

“Hey, how's it going over there?... How's she feelin’?... Good… Yes I did… Yeah… Oh fuck off, put the kid on the phone.”

Ian couldn't help but feel some amusement at what he heard. It was clear that Mickey and Svetlana had a good relationship. Ian still didn't really understand it, though. He told himself he was going to ask Mickey more about it now that they'd been dating for a bit. 

Mickey's voice brightened up as soon as he heard his son. “Hey bud! How was your day?... How was the baby?... Yeah well, you were a little pipsqueak like that once upon a time too… Were you good for your mom today?... Good. Going to bed now?... Okay, I'll talk to you tomorrow... I love you… Night, little man.”

He hung up the phone and dropped it back on the floor, turning over in the process so he could face Ian and lay back down. Mickey laid his head on Ian's chest and let Ian plant soft kisses in his hair. He hated to admit it, but he was glad he had listened to Svetlana and invited Ian over. 

“Mick?”

“Yea?”

Ian hesitated for a moment. “You never told me why you and Svetlana decided to have a kid.”

_ Fuck _ . Mickey had sort of hoped the topic would never come up again. He pushed himself to sit up so he could look at Ian. “I don't wanna talk about it.”

“Why not?” Ian asked.

He was trying to keep his cool, but his voice was tense. “It's not a nice story.”

“You can talk to me, y’know.” Ian assured him.

Mickey couldn't help but feel a bit offended at the implication. “Never said I couldn't.”

Ian was thoroughly confused. “Then what's the problem?”

Now Mickey was annoyed. “I just don't fuckin’ want to!” Why the hell was Ian pushing the issue when it was so clearly a sore subject?

So much for being glad he'd listened to Svetlana. Mickey got up, moved into the kitchen and started scrubbing viciously at the dirty dishes they'd left in the sink. Anything to keep his hands busy and to stop him from arguing more about the topic. He thought about earlier when Ian asked if he trusted him and he'd said he did. Mickey really did. If it was simply about that he'd tell Ian any and every little thing that he could come up with. But for Mickey, it was about having to relive those memories. It was about having to admit that his son, the center of his world, had at one point been unwanted. Mickey had buried that so deep down, that he could barely even acknowledge to himself that it had ever been true, let alone just admit it to someone else.

“Mick? Maybe I should just go. I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to start a fight with you.”

But Ian wasn't just  _ someone _ .

He turned from the sink and was greeted by the sight of Ian, fully dressed and holding his bag. “That how it's gonna be? We get into it about one thing and you're just ready to leave?”

“What? No!” Ian exclaimed.

Mickey scoffed. “Well that's certainly how it's lookin’ right now.”

Ian threw his hands up in frustration. “What the fuck do you want from me, Mick?”

“I  _ want _ you to get undressed and sit the fuck back down.” Mickey yelled. “What are you leaving for?”

“I figured you'd want me to,” Ian argued. “You're obviously pissed.”

“If I wanted you to fuckin’ go, I'd have asked ya to fuckin’ go,” Mickey told him. “And I'm not pissed at you, it's just not…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to focus his thoughts and emotions which were racing through his mind. “It's not that easy for me, okay? Not everybody gets to just… not everybody just gets to blurt out how they fuckin’ feel every minute.”

Mickey felt a sickening sense of deja vu. He turned away from Ian and braced himself on the counter. His head was starting to pound with a headache and he let it hang down between his shoulders. Mickey felt like there was a lump in his throat and it made him want to throw up. He heard Ian's bag drop to the floor and a moment later Ian's arms were around his waist, his chin on Mickey's shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” Ian told him. “Hey. I shouldn't have pushed you like that. You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to.”

Mickey's head was really throbbing now. “Can you grab me some aspirin from the bathroom?”

Ian pulled away from him and padded across the apartment. He came back a minute later with the bottle and opened it so Mickey could just shake out however many he wanted, which he did.

“You okay?” Ian asked.

“Old head injury.” Mickey told him, swallowing the last pill down with some water. “Some dumb bar fight a few years back. I'm prone to migraines now. It just comes on sometimes.”

The guilt was written all over Ian's face. “Probably my fault.”

It probably was, but Mickey was well past the point of wanting to argue about that or anything else. “I just need to lay down and turn the lights off.”

Ian grabbed his bag and followed Mickey into his bedroom, shutting the door behind them. He got undressed and laid behind Mickey, pulling him close until his chest was pressed along Mickey's back.

Mickey felt Ian's fingers in his hair, lightly massaging his head. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

Despite the fact that they had dropped the conversation, Mickey couldn't stop thinking about it. He could understand why Ian would ask him about the situation. It wasn't conventional. Besides, that's what people did when they were with someone. They confided in them, told them things, relied on that trust they built between them. 

And Ian really, really wasn't just  _ someone _ to Mickey.

He took a deep breath. “My dad was the biggest piece of shit. I know everyone thinks they've got shitty parents, but my dad was a neo-nazi and a wife beater. Not much worse to a guy like that than having a faggot for a son.”

Ian spoke behind him, voice strained. “Mick, you don't gotta tell me anything.”

Mickey ignored him and pressed on. “Sometimes I'm glad for this damn head injury, because I'm fuzzy on things here and there. I don't really remember a lot about the day I met Svetlana. But from what she told me, my dad found out I was gay. Caught me wackin’ it to some gay porn or somethin’. So he called her up.”

“But what would she have to do with anything?” Ian asked.

He sighed. “Svetlana was a hooker.”

There was a long silence until Ian realized what he was implying. “Holy shit.  _ Mickey _ .”

“Couldn't have some queerbo son. Thought he could have it fucked outta me. Turned out she got pregnant. So he made me marry her.” The lump in his throat was back, but this time it was Mickey trying not to cry. “I didn't want him. I didn't want my own son.”

Ian sniffed behind him, obviously crying the tears Mickey couldn't bring himself to shed. “Who could blame you?”

Mickey didn't really want to talk about it anymore but he'd made it this far. “For the first almost year or so, I wanted as little to do with him as possible. But I came around.”

“Yes, you did. I  _ know _ how much you love him,” Ian assured, kissing the spot where Mickey's neck and shoulders met, making him shiver.

“My dad died on my birthday the year Yevgeny turned two. That phone call tellin’ me was the best birthday present I ever got.”

Ian snorted, which turned into full blown laughter.

“That’s not funny,” Mickey snickered. 

The two of them couldn’t control it, and soon they were both laughing even harder. They broke apart and both laid on their backs, taking in the irony of the situation. Mickey looked over at Ian and smiled. Despite everything, he was glad that he’d told Ian what happened. Ian turned his head and met Mickey’s gaze. His laughter died out and he leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to Mickey’s lips.

“I hate that you had to go through that.” Ian whispered.

Mickey rolled back over into Ian’s space and pressed against his side. “At least I got some good out of it. Wasn’t all for nothin’. And he got what was he deserved. What’s that called?”

“Poetic justice?” Ian suggested.

“Poetic justice.” Mickey agreed.

\----------

“I’m sorry I can’t help you get moved in today.”

Mickey had called Ian to check in on the progress he and his family were having with getting him packed up and moved over to his new apartment. He felt terrible. He’d told Ian weeks ago that he would help him, but at the last minute, Richie had called him in to cover a shift for another bartender who had to head out of town for a funeral.

“It’s okay Mick,” Ian told him. “Lip and Carl are here helping me move stuff and Fiona’s supervising. We’ll be fine.

“I know, I just feel shitty cuz I told ya I was gonna help ya.” He replied.

“Mmm, you can help me later in other ways.” Ian teased. “After all this  _ hard _ labor, I might need a nice massage to relax.”

Mickey gave a throaty chuckle at that, trying not to picture Ian laid out and waiting for him later. “Massage huh? We’ll see tough guy.”

_ “Stop flirtin’ with that boyfriend of yours and help us dickwad! It’s your shit we’re movin’ here!” _

“Shit, I gotta run,” Ian told him. “Still comin’ over after work?”

“Mmhmm,” Mickey hummed in response. “Text you when I’m on my way. Luh… later.”

He cringed at his own awkwardness. He had been on the verge of telling Ian that he loved him for a little while, very badly wanted to tell Ian that he loved him, but he was terrified. Mickey dragged a hand down his face and got up to go get dressed for work.

Much to Mickey's chagrin, the day dragged on even longer than he thought it would, especially because about an hour after he started working, Ian started sending him filthy text messages. The longer the day wore on, the dirtier they got. Messages about all of the nasty things Ian wanted to do to him, about fucking him on every available surface of the new apartment. Every time he read a new one, he could feel his cheeks heating up in embarrassment, despite the fact that no one but him knew what they said. But mostly he was really, really into it, and ready to kill Ian for teasing him all day long.

When Mickey finally made it to Ian’s new place, he barely had a chance to knock on the door before it was yanked open. There Ian was on the other side, his face lit up with pure joy and excitement.

“You’re finally here,” he said, grabbing Mickey by the wrist and pulling him inside. He pushed the door closed and backed Mickey against it, hands and lips making up for the hours he’d waited so impatiently.

Mickey laughed and tried to catch Ian quick enough to kiss him back. “Okay, okay, if you smother me before I even get to the bedroom, how ya gonna make good on those dirty texts you’ve been sendin’ me all day?”

Ian pressed one final kiss firmly on Mickey’s mouth before releasing him. “Want to see the place?”

Mickey nodded and Ian led him around. There was still plenty to be done with unpacking and organizing, but Mickey could see that Ian had kept himself busy all day with trying to get shit sorted out. When they finally reached the bedroom, saving the best for last, Ian seemed to remember something.

“Sit down,” he urged Mickey. “I’ll be right back.”

Ian rushed out of the room, leaving Mickey to watch after him, eyes full of affection. He returned a minute later with a small gift bag in his hand and dropped down next to Mickey on the mattress, offering him the present.

“I got ya something.”

Mickey took the bag, eyeing it curiously. “I thought that when people got a new place, you were supposed to get them housewarming gifts, not the other way around.”

Ian jostled his shoulder. “Just open it.”

He gave the bag a tentative shake, feeling something small sliding around in the bottom. With one more curious peek over at Ian, Mickey finally opened the bag and pulled out a key.

Ian explained his gift in a rush. “I know I’m the one who moved in, but I kind of think of this like it’s our place, not just mine. I want you here any time you want to be here. I even saved you some space in my drawers in case you wanted to leave anything here.” 

Mickey stared at the key, laying flat in his palm, a flood of emotions working through him. Jesus, he fuckin’ loved this kid. He might be scared to say it, but he knew it just as sure as he knew his own name. In so many ways, Mickey had spent his life feeling like an inconvenience to so many people. His parents in particular, their kids nothing but a hurdle in the way of the things they really gave a fuck about. He and Svetlana had made a good life for themselves, for each other and their son, but it hadn’t been by choice, not at first anyway. Ian was the first person who had made Mickey feel truly wanted, made him feel like there was a place in Ian’s life that only he could fill. He was overwhelmed, but in the best way.

Ian’s own nerves at work, he took Mickey’s silence the wrong way and tried to backpedal. “Only if you want, no pressure or anything.”

“Stop,” he told Ian. Mickey fumbled into his pocket and took out his key ring. Willing himself to keep his hands from shaking, he looped Ian’s apartment key on next to his own house key and looked at the two of them resting next to each other. It just felt  _ right _ , like everything did when it came to he and Ian. “Just stop.”

He pulled Ian close to him and hugged him, the keys firmly gripped in his hand. Mickey knew he wasn’t always the best with putting his feelings into words, but he hoped Ian knew what it meant to him. Mickey felt Ian hugging him back and believed he did.

Mickey stood up and tucked the keys back in his pocket for safekeeping. He started to take his clothes off, wanting to be close to Ian,  _ needing  _ to be close to Ian. 

Ian watched him at first, relishing the view as Mickey got undressed. But before he had a chance to take it all in, Mickey was sliding his hands under Ian's shirt and pulling it over his head with a sense of urgency. Ian fumbled for his belt to help speed things along. He watched as Mickey tugged at the zipper and then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, pulling Ian's jeans and underwear off in one swift move. 

“Lube?” Mickey asked him.

Ian pointed at the bedside table and Mickey opened the drawer and grabbed it along with a condom. Ian reached for the tube but Mickey shook his head.

“I got it,” he told Ian.

Ian laid back and watched as Mickey kneeled on the bed. He grabbed the tube and squeezed a generous amount onto his own fingers before reaching around to stretch himself.

“Holy shit.” Ian mumbled, as he watched his boyfriend working his fingers in and out. They were so used to having to grab opportunities to fuck that they didn't always get to sit back and really appreciate the moment. Ian stared at Mickey with hooded eyes, lust taking over his mind. His hand slid down and wrapped around his own cock, stroking loosely as he watched Mickey prep. He got so lost in his thoughts about what he wanted to do to Mickey that it took him a moment to notice that Mickey's hand was covering his own. 

“Let me,” Mickey told him, moving Ian's hand and continuing himself. 

Ian was rock hard. He watched Mickey's hand move up and down his shaft, already beginning to pant a little over how worked up he was. Mickey reached for the condom and tore the wrapper open with his teeth, taking the rubber out and rolling it over Ian's cock. He squeezed another generous amount of lube into his hand and worked Ian over. Ian tried to sit up, but Mickey pushed him down gently with a hand on his chest.

“I said let me.” 

Ian laid back again and watched as Mickey straddled him, reaching behind him to grab Ian's cock and lead it to his entrance. When they were lined up, Mickey slowly lowered himself and let Ian enter him, bearing down until he was fully seated on Ian's lap. He closed his eyes and put his hands on Ian's chest to ground himself.

“Mick? Okay?” Ian asked.

He nodded, still not opening his eyes as he began to slide back up Ian's cock slowly. As he adjusted he started to move faster, keeping his hands firmly on Ian's chest and pressing the tops of his feet down onto Ian's thighs to hold him in place. The only noise was their low moans and the sound of their bodies slapping against each other as Mickey raised and lowered himself on Ian's cock. Ian laid there and watched Mickey working on top of him. His milky skin was lightly mottled and pink with exertion. He was covered in a sheen of sweat and had sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth and was biting it hard, trying to keep himself together.

Ian thought Mickey had never looked more beautiful.

Mickey finally opened his eyes and looked down at Ian, his red hair bright against the white pillowcase, his skin flushed with want and need. He was fire, and Mickey felt that tightening of fear in his chest, fear of getting burned. But he couldn't stop. It had long been too late for him to turn back. Not even if he were scorched and turned into ash. Mickey reached for Ian, tugged on his shoulders until he sat up the best he could. He wrapped his arms around Mickey’s waist and kissed along the hard line of his jaw. 

They moved together, Mickey seated on Ian’s lap, clinging tightly to Ian’s shoulders as he rode him. He felt Ian’s hands on him, tracing his spine, rubbing his burning thighs, buried in his hair. As they moved towards their climaxes, Ian slid a hand between them and started stroking him. He was so close, losing his rhythm as he came, Ian soothing him through it before he himself finished. A few more thrusts and Ian followed, kissing Mickey and moaning into his mouth.

They stayed there, slowly coming down from the high. Ian’s arms were firmly wrapped around Mickey’s waist, holding him there, securing him, anchoring him. Mickey buried his face in Ian’s shoulder, giving him soft, lazy kisses on his neck and collarbone. 

“Mick?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Ian's voice was so strong, so sure in what he was saying. Mickey closed his eyes, tears beginning to form as his emotions threatened to take over again. It was all he'd ever wanted to hear.

He grazed Ian's ear with his lips and whispered, “I love you too.”

\----------

Ian was thrilled that he was finally bringing Mickey home to meet his family.

It wasn’t even that it was the first guy he’d brought home. None of them had ever been shy about having their lovers or significant others around. But Ian had wanted to keep Mickey to himself for awhile, wanted to make sure that he was ready to bring him home. Because Ian didn’t want this to be like every other time. He wanted Mickey to stick around. He might not have been the first guy Ian brought home, but Ian wanted him to be the last. His family had been thrilled that Ian was finally caving and having him over. They had tried to pepper him with questions about the mystery boyfriend and he’d laughed them off, telling them to save it for Thanksgiving dinner fodder.

Mickey was surprisingly excited too. He and Ian had been getting on so well, and while it made him a little nervous, he knew this was an important step in their relationship. Mickey had struggled over whether to introduce Ian to Svetlana and Yevgeny, especially because his son was young and could get attached. But when Ian had himself asked if Mickey would come home with him for Thanksgiving, when Mickey saw how nervous and hopeful his boyfriend was about the prospect, he felt his own resolve loosen up. He was pretty sure that, if this went well, he’d be taking Ian home to his own family soon too.

They got out of Ian’s car, Mickey following him up the walkway to the stairs. When they got to the top of the porch, Ian stopped a moment to give Mickey a kiss, running his thumb over Mickey’s cheekbone.

“Ready for the zoo?” He was thrumming with nervous energy. “Our family doesn’t have a great track record for holidays.” 

Mickey reached up and took his hand. “It’s going to be fine. I grew up in my own zoo, I can handle them.”

Ian nodded and pushed open the door before he could change his mind. “We’re here!” He shouted as he walked in. Mickey couldn’t see right away with Ian blocking his view, but he could hear the chorus of excited voices shouting out greetings as they walked in. 

“Good timing!” He heard a woman’s voice chime above the fray. “We’re just sitting down to eat, grab your seats! I’ve got the mashed potatoes!” 

Mickey stepped into the living room and he could see a group of people all sitting at a large table set up close to the kitchen entrance. As they all looked up to greet him, there was a collective silence. They stared at him, at each other, at their brother. There was something so familiar about them. Mickey stared back. It was like the zoo alright, and he was on exhibit.  _ What the fuck? _

“Okay, who’s hungry?!” 

That same voice rang out again and this time Mickey saw the woman connected to it, her dark brown hair falling in loose waves around her face and shoulders. This had to be Fiona. She rounded the corner from the kitchen into the living room, her large pregnant belly taking the lead. She caught sight of Mickey, still standing near the front doorway, and barely squeaked out an “ _ oh _ !” before losing her grip on the bowl of potatoes. It fell to the floor and shattered and Mickey suddenly felt a piercing pain in his head. 

Ian and his siblings scrambled towards Fiona to make sure she was alright, but Mickey stood in the doorway, his hands on the sides of his head. The pain was intense and he felt jumbled. He looked up at everyone and things started to hit him. One at a time at first, and then a barrage of thoughts and memories. The glass, the breaking glass was what triggered it. Ian and him on the rooftop, Ian desperate to get Mickey to talk to him, throwing that bottle to get his attention. Mickey could feel his chest constricting, his body in an utter panic at the realization of what he’d done. What Ian had driven him to do. Like a movie reel, it all flashed through Mickey’s mind. Everything he’d made himself forget for over five and a half years. Dugouts and convenience stores and abandoned buildings and juvie visits. Coming out, fistfights, Yevgeny’s christening.  _ Yevgeny _ . 

He remembered how his son came to be. He  _ remembered _ . 

Mickey choked back a sob at that. He couldn’t help himself. Unfortunately for him, at the same time, once it was determined that Fiona was fine, everyone’s attention was back to the matter at hand. Everyone’s attention was back to him. Ian looked around, realizing Mickey wasn’t near him. His eyes finally locked on Mickey still standing across the room, looking like a caged animal. There was something in his eye that Ian didn’t understand but which concerned him greatly. He rushed over to check on his boyfriend. 

Ian reached for him. “Mick?”

“No!” He roared. “Back the fuck off!”

Ian held his hands up in surrender, moving from concern to outright worry. He spoke softly, trying to calm Mickey down from whatever the fuck had spooked him. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“You don’t know?” Mickey asked snidely. Then he realized and laughed wetly, holding back the tears that were threatening to come out. “Oh my God, of course you don’t know. You don’t know! They know!” 

He swept his hand out and motioned to everyone else, now gathered in a rough cluster watching things unfold. Fiona and Debbie, realizing quickly what was happening, were openly crying. Lip had clearly caught on to things too and looked completely resigned. Carl and Liam were both watching things warily, unsure of what to do. The others were looking at each other in confusion.

“None of you stopped it! None of you!”

“Stopped what, Mick?” Ian asked. But Mickey didn't answer, just kept shaking his head like he was trying to shake something loose. Ian grabbed his shoulder to try to calm him down. “Stopped  _ what _ ?”

Mickey jerked away from him. “Don't touch me.”

_ I talked him up to $600. _ “What did you say?” He felt something happening and he was terrified.

Mickey looked down at his feet. “I said don't fuckin’ touch me.” He backed closer to the door, his head pounding, his mind inundated with memories. “I gotta go.”

“Please,” Ian begged. “Don't go. Don't leave me.”

But Mickey was shaking his head again. His back hit the door and he fumbled for the knob. Ian reached for him, one last ditch effort to keep him from walking out that door. 

“Don't.” He didn’t want Ian to touch him, couldn’t let Ian touch him.

_ Don't what?  _ “Don't what?”

Mickey looked up at him, stricken, and Ian knew. He knew what he had done. The first time that Mickey couldn't answer that question, Ian had walked out on him. This time, it was Mickey who walked away. 

“Mick! Please!” Ian started after him but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Ian, let him go.” Lip told him. “He needs time.”

He dropped to his knees right there in the doorway. “What did I do?” He moaned. 

He buried his face in his hands. Everything flowed over him in waves. Wave after wave of memories. Ian did this. He was the one who had set everything in motion. He was the one who had erased his memory. Mickey must have found out and done the same.  _ Fuck _ . Ian thought of how Mickey must have felt when he found out, and his stomach churned. He was selfish but he wasn’t cruel, and the thought that Mickey had to go through that brought Ian to tears.

Fiona came over to console her brother. “C’mon, why don’t you get up and come sit down?” She asked.

Ian looked up at everyone. His siblings, Tom, Kev and Vee and their girls, all watching him in the background. He couldn’t sit there with them right now. He shook his head. “I’m just going to go home.”

She leaned over to rub his back between his shoulder blades, the same way she used to do when he was small. “I really think it would be better if you stayed.”

“I can’t,” he whispered. “Fi, I need to go.”

Ian grabbed the door frame and pulled himself to his feet. He walked out without bothering to say goodbye to anyone, getting in his car and speeding away from the curb. He hadn’t even been in the house long enough to take off his coat. Fiona stood on the front porch and watched him go, rubbing soothing circles over her belly. She felt rather than heard Lip come up behind her.

“Another Thanksgiving gone to shit,” she observed.

Lip reached over and took her elbow. “C’mon, gotta keep the baby fed and there’s all that food left. Let’s go inside.”

\----------

Mickey walked the entire way back to his apartment, thinking about what had just gone down at the Gallagher house. He felt queasy at the thought of everything he had erased, everything that had happened between them gone for so long. All these months together ( _ back together _ ) felt like a lie. When he was about halfway home, Mickey actually had to stop. He doubled over at the curb, convinced he was going to be sick.

By the time he made it to his house, all Mickey wanted was to go to bed and pretend none of it happened. He let himself in the back door and shuffled down the stairs. He walked in and found Svetlana on the couch watching TV. 

She looked up in surprise. “You are home early.”

Mickey's mouth felt dry and he thought his stomach may still betray him. He merely nodded in response. Svetlana immediately knew something was wrong and was off the couch in an instant. She moved towards him and went to put a hand on his forehead, Mickey flinching away automatically.

Svetlana pulled her hand back and eyed him suspiciously. “What's wrong?”

He swallowed drily. “So, you know the guy I've been seeing, how we went to meet his family today.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I remember.”

“I'd been thinking if things went well maybe next I'd bring him to meet you guys.” He chuckled, the sound humorless. “Turns out that won't be necessary.”

This wasn't making any sense to Svetlana. “Misha, I don't understand.”

“Well as it turns out, I've been dating Ian Gallagher. And I remembered everything.”

Svetlana dropped her hand from his forehead and just stared at him. This couldn’t be possible. But Mickey wouldn’t, no,  _ couldn’t _ , lie about that. He’d taken his memories of Ian away. She didn’t know what to say, and it wasn’t because of the language barrier. She looked Mickey over. That exhausted look, the red-rimmed eyes that told her he’d been crying before he got home, that well-worn aged look etched into his face. She had seen this look before, but it had been five and a half years. She knew it well, and she hadn’t missed it.

Suddenly there was a buzzing in Mickey’s pocket. They looked at each other for a long moment.

“It’s probably him.” Mickey said. “Been callin’ me nonstop for the past hour or so.”

“Give me phone,” she ordered.

“Svet…” The tone in MIckey’s voice was equally wary and warning. 

“Phone.” She held her hand out until he finally dug it out of his pocket and placed it in her waiting palm. Svetlana turned her back on Mickey and deftly swiped the screen to answer, putting the phone to her ear. “Shto?”

“I- Hello?” She heard a voice hesitate on the other end of the line. It may have been a long time since she heard it, but hell if she didn’t recognize it right away.

“Stop calling him. He needs space.” She ordered. 

“Svetlana?” A sigh whispered through the phone. “Jesus. Please, I just want to talk to him.”

She sucked her teeth in annoyance. He always did expect people to bend to his will. “Well he doesn’t want to talk to you. Or did him not answering not make that clear?”

His voice came over the line again, strained, pleading. “How did he find out? Who told him?”

It was the wrong thing to say, and she huffed at that. “Ay, pizdets. Don’t ask who told him like we're to blame for  _ your  _ bad choice. If you had not done brain wipe, none of this would happen. Stop calling. He will talk to you if  _ he  _ decides he’s ready. Not before.” 

Svetlana hung up and turned to give Mickey his phone back, but he wasn’t there. Confused, she moved across the apartment to check the bedrooms. She had just gotten to his room and saw he wasn’t in there when she heard murmured voices coming from next door. Quietly, she moved to Yevgeny’s doorway and watched Mickey talking to their son.

Yevgeny blinked up at his father, not expecting him to be there. “Mama said you weren’t coming home ‘til tomorrow.”

Mickey’s voice was full of false cheer. “Well, Papa just missed you guys so much that he decided to come home early. I'm off work tomorrow, so we can hang out. Maybe do a movie day.”

Yev’s eyes lit up. “Can I pick the movie?” 

"Only if I can pick the snacks.” Mickey bartered.

“Deal.”

Mickey’s voice got more serious, the emotion of the day catching up with him again. “Papa loves you so much, Yev. You know that, right?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“You’re the-” Mickey’s voice cracked and he paused for a moment before he continued. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, bud. Can I have a hug?”

Yevgeny sat up and wrapped his small arms around his dad’s neck. Mickey pulled him off the bed and into his lap, squeezing him tightly.

“Are you okay, Daddy? You seem sad.”

Mickey smoothed his son’s hair and rubbed his back. “Sometimes grownups have bad days too, bud. But I’m home now, with you, so it’s getting better. Sorry I woke you up. C’mon, let’s get you back in bed.”

Mickey released his son and got him tucked back in, adjusting the blanket over his shoulders. He gave Yevgeny one last kiss goodnight and stepped out of the room closing the door behind him. He and Svetlana exchanged glances for a long moment before she spoke.

“Did you eat?”

“Not really hungry,” He mumbled. 

“You need a little something. Come.”

Svetlana steered Mickey to their small dining table and made him sit down. “I made kasha varnishkes, you eat.” She went to the fridge and took out the bowl of buckwheat and bowtie pasta, grabbing a fork and placing it all in front of Mickey. She watched while he listlessly picked at the food. He barely took any bites, instead pushing the food around in the bowl.

“Tell me what happened.”

Mickey sighed. “There isn’t much to tell. We walked into his sister’s house and right away it was weird. They were all staring at me, obviously they knew who I was. I could feel something but I couldn’t put my finger on it.”

“So then how did you remember?” She asked. 

“Fiona came in from the other room and saw me, dropped the bowl she was holding.” He replied. “The glass, it clicked in my head. Took me back to when… to something that happened with me and Ian. Before you and I even got married.” He touched the spot on his finger where his wedding band used to be, like some sort of Pavlovian reaction. “It was like a flash. And then it all came back to me and I freaked the fuck out.”

Svetlana got up and grabbed two beers from the fridge, one for each of them. She passed his over to him and she sat back down with her own. “What did he say?”

MIckey twisted the cap off his bottle and took a long swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nothin’ much. He tried to talk to me but I lost it. Right before I left, I think everything hit him too. I didn’t stick around to find out, I hadda get outta there.”

She nodded her understanding. “So what happens now?”

“What, with Ian?” He sighed. “Fuck, I don’t even know. I can’t even think about that yet. I need to get my head right first.”

They sat there in silence for a while, nursing their beers and getting lost in thought. Mickey kept going over the night’s events in his mind, thinking about all of the memories that had flooded through him just hours before. Some of it was still fuzzy, but Mickey figured as time went on it would all probably come back more clearly. But maybe it wouldn’t, who really knew. He watched Svetlana as she traced her finger along the rim of her beer bottle, seemingly lost in her own thoughts about the situation. Eventually she got up and took both of their empty bottles, rinsing them and throwing them in the recycling can.

She came back and stroked Mickey’s hair. “Get some rest, you have plenty of time to figure out what to do. Don’t sit here and get drunk all night.”

Svetlana retired to her room and closed the door. She reached over and grabbed her phone from where she had it charging on her dresser. She opened the messages and scrolled down until she found Mandy's name, touching it with her finger to pull the message history up. Then she sent another one.

_ Your brother remembers everything. Send me the box. _

\----------

Ian didn't want to get out of bed.

It had nothing to do with his bipolar disorder, thankfully. He was just the good old-fashioned version of depressed after a breakup. Or whatever the fuck it was. Ian wasn't even sure, because Mickey wouldn't talk to him.

He tried, heaven knew Ian tried. He called and texted Mickey, begging forgiveness, imploring him to just listen. But Mickey wasn't ready to hear it. He wouldn't pick up the phone. The texts at least got a response… sometimes, anyway. 

Ian laid in bed, wishing he could just stay there a little longer. But he had a shift and, as it was, he'd already spent the better part of the last few weeks laying around feeling sorry for himself. He raised his arm and sniffed, making a face at the smell.  _ When was the last time I even showered? _ It didn't really matter, since he was on his way to do that. Ian rolled out of bed and shuffled into his bathroom, pushing his boxers off and kicking them in the direction of his clothes hamper.

He turned the water on, waiting for it to get nice and hot. As he showered, he didn't think about the last time he and Mickey had showered in there together. He definitely didn't think about the very soapy and slippery handjob Mickey had given him, or how he had fucked Mickey against the tile wall with the water beating down on their skin.

Nope. Didn't think about any of it.

Ian looked down at his erection, hard and strong despite trying his damndest to clear his head.  _ Traitor. _ With a sigh, Ian wrapped his hand around his cock and began to work himself over. He didn't even enjoy it. There were plenty of other things he would rather do than give himself a sad handjob, and when he came, he was just relieved to be done with it.

He got dressed in his work uniform and left the apartment.

Ian drove to the ambulance dispatch, parking in the lot and going inside to get settled. He greeted his coworkers and made his way to his locker. He saw his partner, Julio, watching him from across the room. Ian knew what he was thinking, knew that Julio was wondering if he was having an episode. Ian knew that he’d have to talk to him about it, and he dreaded it. But it was what it was. He waved and Julio came over so they could go out on shift together.

Ian let Julio drive, knowing it would put him at ease. They went on some calls; an elderly woman who fell in her home, a kid with a broken leg at a local park, a middle aged man with chest pain. It was a fairly routine day, and soon they were parked on a side street taking their meal break and watching the foot traffic on the main thoroughfare in front of them.

“I’m not having an episode,” Ian blurted out.

Julio looked over at him, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Never said you were, man.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ian rebutted. “It’s all over your face every time you look at me lately.”

“I mean, you have been acting weird.” Julio observed. “But I didn’t say you were on a downslide or anything. Just keepin’ an eye on my partner. If you got a problem with that, that’s too damn bad.”

Ian sighed. “I think me and Mickey are done.”

“Well shit,” Julio replied. “You actin’ weird makes a lot more sense now. What the fuck happened?”

“It’s a long story,” Ian told him. “Way too long. But it’s been a few weeks and he’s barely talking to me.”

Julio peeked over at Ian out of the corner of his eye. “You fuck around?”

Ian’s eyes widened in shock at the accusation. “No! Fuck no!”

“Hadda ask.” Julio shrugged.

“It’s not like that.” Ian told him vehemently.

Julio held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I got it. I believe you.”

Ian turned away from Julio and looked out the window, done with the conversation. There was a school across the street, classes just letting out for the day. He saw the kids starting to trickle out the doors into the schoolyard for their parent pickups and bus rides home. He smiled wistfully at the sight of all the small children with their oversized school bags. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man with a familiar gait walking down the sidewalk.

“Mickey.” He breathed out.

Julio followed his gaze and saw who Ian was talking about. “That’s your better half, huh? Go talk to him!”

Ian ignored Julio and watched as Mickey walked down the sidewalk and entered the schoolyard, stopping to speak with a teacher. Ian held his breath and watched the two adults across the street. A moment later, he saw a small boy break from a crowd of kids and run over, barreling into Mickey’s legs.  _ Yevgeny _ . Mickey’s hand automatically went to his son’s back, holding him close. Ian watched as he looked down at his son, taking his school bag and talking to him. Seeing the love Mickey had for his son had always touched Ian, but watching it in person, it punched right through to Ian’s heart.

“I didn’t know he had a kid.” Julio commented. 

“Shut up,” Ian whispered.

Yevgeny gave the teacher a wave and he and Mickey turned and left the schoolyard, Mickey’s hand still lightly on his son’s back, steering him along. He had hoisted Yevgeny’s bag over his own shoulder and was looking down attentively while Yevgeny told him something, seemingly excited if his furious hand gestures were any indication. Ian watched, breath held until they were out of sight, even when Ian stretched as far forward in his seat as he could. They disappeared from view and Ian let the air out, tears already starting to form in his eyes. He missed Mickey so fucking badly. It had only been a few weeks. He didn’t know how he was supposed to do this again.

“You okay man?” Julio asked him.

Ian turned his body away and looked out the passenger window of the ambulance, fighting to keep the tears from falling. “No.”

\----------

Mickey and Svetlana sat across from each other at their kitchen table, eating the dinner she had prepared for them. They weren’t used to a dinner without Yevgeny, but Mandy was in town and had taken him to dinner and to see  _ A Christmas Carol _ in the theater, her Christmas present to him.

“She’s really settin’ the bar high,” Mickey had groused after they left. “He’s gonna see our presents and wonder where the good shit is.”

Svetlana waved him off. “She buy big things because she’s never here. He will forget that, but he won’t forget toys he plays with every day and parents he sees every day.”

Mickey knew he was being a dick, but ever since he’d gotten his memory back, he had felt some animosity towards his sister. Reasonably, he knew nothing that had happened was her fault. But he hated that she’d only came back because of what Ian had done, and then had left Chicago again not long after he’d had his own erasure done, this time for real. She always visited once or twice a year, and Mickey had talked to her periodically, but since his memory had returned, he hadn’t called her. And when he found out she was going to come in for Christmas, his heart filled with dread.

He loved his sister, very much so. But he always felt like she chose Ian over him, and he felt like she still would. He didn’t or couldn’t understand how much Ian’s choice to do the memory erasure hurt her, how much she hurt for her brother. And he had no idea that she had held onto the memories of their relationship for all of this time.

Mickey and Svetlana finished their dinner and she moved to clear their dirty plates. As she washed them, she looked back over her shoulder at Mickey as he got up from the table. 

“Can you go to couch?” She asked. “I have something for you.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “Isn’t it a bit early for Christmas gifts?”

“It’s not a present,” she told him. He only looked at her with more wariness and she waved a soapy hand at him. “Pizdets, go sit down.”

Reluctantly, he went to the couch and waited as she finished her chore and dried her hands. She went into her bedroom and emerged with a medium sized cardboard box. She crossed the room and sat down next to him, putting the box on the floor at their feet.

“Thought you said it wasn't a present,” Mickey teased. When he saw the look on her face, however, he lost any element of joking. “Svet, what the fuck  _ is _ this?”

She huffed and blew her bangs off her forehead. “Okay. Remember when you do brain swipe and they tell you to take shit that reminds you of Orange Boy and throw it away?”

“His name is Ian,” Mickey sighed. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

She gently pushed the box towards him with her foot until he realized what she was getting at.

His eyebrows shot up. “You fuckin’ didn't!”

Svetlana was quick to defend her actions. “I thought, ‘ _ What if he remembers and he wishes he had this stuff? _ ’ If you don't want it, throw it away again. I wanted to make sure you had the choice.”

Mickey looked at the box, unsure of what to do. Part of him wanted to just toss it again, or burn it so it couldn't come back to haunt him. But there was an ache deep in his heart that made him want to pop the lid open and take a trip down memory lane. Tentatively, he reached over and pulled the box until it was directly in front of him. He stared at it, not really ready to jump in.

“Our apartment is barely bigger than this fuckin’ box,” Mickey commented. “How the fuck did you hide it all these years?”

“I didn't,” Svetlana said, rising from the couch. “I gave it to your sister for safekeeping.” She patted Mickey's shoulder and then retreated to her room, closing the door behind her.

_ Fuckin’ Mandy. _

Mickey leaned down and took the lid off the box, dropping it on the floor. The first thing he saw, folded neatly on top, was Ian's army dress uniform. His chest tightened when he read the  _ Gallagher  _ name plate. Mickey ran his finger across it. He thought about how handsome Ian had looked wearing it, even if his behavior had been troubling to Mickey. He could still see Ian at that funeral, so young and angry. Mickey lifted it up and gently placed it next to him on the couch. He closed his eyes and smoothed the lapel, allowing himself to imagine for a moment that Ian was inside of the uniform.

He let his breath out in a shudder, not realizing he’d been holding it. Mickey opened his eyes and focused back on the box. He pulled out a few pairs of Ian’s shorts from when he had danced at the Fairy Tail and made a face. Mickey had always hated Ian working there. Besides being gawked at by every fucking loser in the place, it had been the catalyst for many of Ian’s shitty decisions. Mickey quickly tossed them aside and continued to go through the items. Some of his own clothes. The ridiculous anal beads he’d stolen on a whim from a sex shop. A pair of tickets to a Sox game that he’d brought Ian to.  _ That was a fun day _ . Ian’s bunched up ROTC duffle bag. A few photos of the two of them together. Mickey’s stolen photo of Ian, still crumpled and now a bit faded from age. Mickey picked at the frayed corner of the photo, just looking at 15 year old Ian in that stupid beanie. Even then he was beautiful. Even then he was fire, laying siege and burning a path right through Mickey’s life.

Next was a neck tie. It took Mickey a minute to remember why he’d even put that in the box. Mandy had pinched it for him at the mall when he cooked up the moving truck scheme, arguing it would make him look more legit. True or not, it had done something to Ian, who could barely keep his hands off Mickey after he wore it on the con job he pulled. That night, Ian had tied Mickey’s wrists up with the tie while they fucked. Mickey had been weirded out by it at first, but had soon gotten into it, if how hard he came was any indicator. He turned the tie over in his hands, stroking the soft material with his thumb.  _ One for the maybe pile _ . Mickey wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep that just yet.

Only two more things were left in the bottom of the box. Mickey reached for the first, a familiar bottle that he knew well. It was the cologne Ian had always worn back then. He hesitated for a moment before taking the cap off and lifting it up to smell it. To his surprise, it hadn’t turned, and it smelled just like it always had. Mickey had always loved that cologne, had found any and every excuse he could without looking like a fuckin’ weirdo to bury his face in Ian’s clothes or skin to smell it. Mickey thought about it for a moment and realized that Ian didn’t wear that cologne anymore. He still smelled great, but it was funny how that little thing flooded Mickey with so many memories and emotions.

Finally, Mickey reached in and took out the last thing in the box. Ian’s old notebook. He used to carry that thing everywhere for a while, always scribbling in it or jotting down a quick note when something came to mind. Mickey had never looked at it, always respecting Ian’s privacy. But today, he tentatively flipped it open and scanned a page. It seemed to start around the time Ian was in the army. There were some random notes in there, a lot of things that Mickey didn’t understand. Miscellaneous notes about people and events of whose significance Mickey didn’t know. He had long figured out that Ian’s bipolar disorder had onset while he was away and had gone undiagnosed. 

Mickey didn’t bother to read much of it, just skimmed through and flipped pages until he got to stuff that seemed more familiar. Pages and pages of notes about video gaming and phone numbers he’d scribbled down to learn to play the guitar or the saxophone, names of fallen soldiers that Ian must have found reading the news. Interspersed through the pages was Mickey. He was the thread that ran through most of the book. Sometimes it was just his name. Sometimes it was things like a list of ideas on how to make money for their household, things Ian wanted to do with him, funny things Mickey would say or do that Ian would record for posterity. 

He sniffed as he flipped through the pages. There had been so many instances where Ian had seemed so caught up in what he was dealing with that Mickey didn’t think Ian thought much about him at all. Especially after Ian took off with his mother and then came back and broke up with him. But there he was, page after page after page. A tear rolled down his cheek before he could stop it. Mickey swiped at it with the back of his hand. Why couldn’t Ian have just focused on that? Remembered that? Maybe it could have saved them both a world of heartache and trouble.

Mickey closed the book and pulled his phone out of his pocket to shoot off a text, the response back almost immediate.

_ M: I have some stuff of yours, don’t know if you want it back. Can I stop by? _

_ I: Of course. I’m home all night. _

\----------

Ian paced around his apartment, nervous about Mickey’s arrival. 

He had no idea what stuff Mickey was talking about. He could only hope that this wasn’t Mickey’s one final gesture before shutting the door on their relationship for good. Ian picked at his cuticles, practically wearing a path in the carpet as he walked back and forth. His nerves were frayed and he could feel himself starting to sweat. There was a knock at the door and Ian wiped his clammy palms down the front of his jeans before he opened the door. Mickey stood there, box in his hands. He didn’t meet Ian’s eye.

“Hey.”

“Hey. Come in.” Ian stepped aside and pulled the door open to allow Mickey entry. 

Mickey came in and put the box on Ian’s kitchen counter. “So, back when we did the… y’know, the erasure. They told us to gather up stuff that reminded us or whatever.”

It clicked in Ian’s head then. “Right. Fiona had a box of things from me, too. Got it in my closet.” He hadn’t had the heart to go through it just yet, but he had an idea of what was in it anyway.

Mickey cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, Svetlana took my stuff. Our stuff. Some of it’s actually yours. Figured maybe you'd want it.”

Ian crossed the room and took the lid off the box. Right away he saw a few examples of his old “uniform” on top. He made a noise of disdain and grabbed them all in one handful, throwing them in the trash. Underneath he saw his old army uniform and duffle bag, neatly folded one on top of the other. 

“Feels like it was a lifetime ago,” Ian whispered. “I feel like all of these things belong to a different person.”

Mickey shrugged. “Don’t gotta keep ‘em if you don’t want ‘em.”

“We’ll see,” Ian replied noncommittally. 

“There was something else,” Mickey said as he dug into his pocket and pulled out Ian’s notebook. He offered it to him, Ian slowly reaching out to take it. He watched as Ian thumbed through it. “I looked at it a little bit.”

_ What difference did it make? _ Maybe in his past that would have embarrassed Ian. But it didn’t matter much at the end of the day. Maybe it was a little embarrassing to have someone see your thought process in those moments laid out on paper like that, but he wasn’t mad that Mickey had checked it out.

“I was all over that book. I didn’t…” Mickey paused, trying to find the right words to say what he was feeling. “I didn’t realize you cared that much.”

“ _ What _ ?!” Ian exclaimed. “Of course I did! You were about the only thing I cared about after a point.”

“Didn’t always feel that way,” Mickey muttered. 

Ian tossed the book on the counter and took Mickey’s face in his hands. “I did, Mick. You gotta know that. If you know nothing else, you gotta know that.” His voice was earnest, needing to stress his point and drive it home. 

Mickey pushed Ian’s hands off of him. “Why’d you do it then, Ian? I’ve fuckin’ tried and tried to get it, but I don’t understand. I don’t. How could you just erase me like I didn’t even fuckin’ matter?”

“You  _ do _ matter, Mick!” Ian yelled. “You always have!”

“Then how  _ could _ you?!” He yelled back.

“I don’t know!” Tears pooled in Ian’s eyes and he spoke in a rush. “I’d broken up with you and I thought I had done the right thing but I was miserable. I missed you so fuckin’ much, Mick. All the time.” He sniffed and reached for a paper towel, wiping his nose. “I saw what being with me was doing to you and I couldn’t do it. I’m selfish, Mick. I knew that I’d cave and I knew you would take me back. And we’d start the clock all over again.”

Mickey stared at the floor. He could barely breathe, let alone respond, so he just stayed quiet and let Ian talk.

“I was in a spiral,” Ian continued. “I just wanted to regain some control of my life. It felt like the only thing I could control. It hurt me, Mick. I know you might not believe that and I get it, but it did hurt me to make that choice. And I did want to forget. Not you. But the things I did, and the way I hurt you.”

Ian reached for Mickey, grabbing his arms lightly and dipping his head down to catch Mickey’s eye. “I am so sorry for the way I hurt you. If I could change it all, I would. I swear.”

“I need time to think,” Mickey told him quietly.

“Okay.” Ian agreed. “Can I show you something first?”

When Mickey nodded, Ian motioned him to follow him into the bedroom. He opened all of his drawers and his closet door. Before Mickey could ask what the fuck he was doing, he was speaking again.

“My life doesn't feel right without you in it. I think that's ultimately why I did it, even if I didn't understand that at the time.” Ian had tears running down his face now, but he made no effort to stop them. “Even when I couldn't remember I think my heart still knew. Because from the moment I set eyes on you at The Lookout, I’ve wanted you in my life in any way I could have you. If you can forgive me, I’ll be here waiting. However long it takes.”

Ian motioned to the drawers and closet and when Mickey looked at them again he finally understood. Because they were all half empty, waiting patiently to be filled with Mickey’s things. A space for him, a space that only Mickey could fill. He looked at Ian and he felt so much love for him. It was overwhelming and all-consuming and Mickey wanted to just climb into it and let it take him over. But he wasn’t some 18 and 19 year old boy anymore who could let himself get completely wrapped up in another person like that. He had a child and a life and responsibilities and, quite frankly, he really wasn’t sure if he could do this with Ian.

Instead, he cupped Ian’s face and wiped his tears away. He smoothed Ian’s hair and murmured comforting overtures. But then he retreated.

He had a lot to figure out.

Days went by and Ian left Mickey alone, sensing that he needed the distance. Ian didn’t want to pressure him into a decision or back him into a corner. He had said his piece and made his apologies, and it was up to Mickey now if he accepted that or not, and what that meant. 

Mickey had barely stopped thinking about Ian and their conversation since it happened. No matter how much he thought about it, or debated it, he kept coming back to the same point over and over. Finally, he made his choice. He had no idea if it was the right or wrong one, maybe he never would. But it was the only one.

Mickey walked to Ian's apartment, using the extra time to clear his mind as best he could. He wanted to go into the conversation as sure as possible. He got there and took the stairs two at a time up to Ian's place. He breathed deeply through his nose, blowing the air out in a rush.  _ Now or never. _ Mickey knocked on the door and waited.

There was rustling inside and a moment later Ian was there. “Mick. What are you doing here?”

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout shit for days now,” Mickey told him. “I get what you did now. Don't agree with it, but I get it.” 

The relief washed over Ian, but it was short lived, because Mickey wasn't done yet.

“I'm angry, Ian. I am. And I don't want to hold it against you forever, because I'm sure you beat yourself up enough about it.”

“Mick-”

He held up a hand. “Let me finish.”

Ian bit back the words and nodded at Mickey to go on. “Like I said, I didn't come here to give you more shit about it. I'm just trying to tell you how I feel.” He sighed, looking for the right words to continue. “This year has made me happier than I ever thought I could be.  _ You _ made me happier.  _ You _ made me realize all the shit I've been missing. But it's hard to overlook everything that got us here. It's really fuckin’ hard.”

Ian's mind was screaming to cut Mickey off, to not let him continue, to beg Mickey to give him another chance and not to leave. It took every ounce of self restraint he had to keep his mouth shut and to give Mickey the respect he deserved to say his peace. He clenched his jaw and fought desperately not to cry, his nostrils flaring and face pinched. He looked everywhere but at Mickey. Ian just couldn't look at him or he would lose whatever shred of resolve was holding him together.

Mickey continued softly, staring at the floor. “I told myself that maybe it was for the best. That maybe we did what we did back then for a reason or some shit.” He dug into his pocket and withdrew his key ring. Their two apartment keys rested next to each other in his palm and he looked at them as he talked. “I've been trying for days to take your key off this ring to give it back to you. I can't do it.”

Ian's eyes shot over to Mickey, who was fixated on the keys in his hand. “What?” He whispered.

Mickey looked up at him then. His eyes were so clear and blue and they pulled Ian right in. He could see the fear and the pain Mickey was grappling with, but there was something else. Determination or grit or whatever it was. They drifted closer to each other, as if they were being pulled. 

Mickey fingered at the collar of Ian's flannel shirt. He whispered, “You're under my skin, man. The fuck can I do?” He adjusted the collar and smoothed his hand over Ian's chest, shrugging one shoulder at his own question. “What can I do?”

Ian slipped his hands on Mickey's waist, sliding down and resting at his hips. “I love you.”

Mickey nodded, avoiding Ian's gaze. “We got a lot to figure out. But I wanna figure it out.”

Ian choked out a noise of relief, something between a sob and a gasp. He pulled Mickey into him and burrowed his face in Mickey's shoulder. He felt hands rubbing his back and sides, gentle and soothing. Ian kissed his collarbone and worked his way up Mickey's neck and jaw until they were face to face. He paused, just looking at Mickey and taking him in.

Mickey tilted his face up and caught Ian's lips in his own. The kiss was chaste, just the two of them lost in the moment, holding tightly to each other.

Mickey had been in it for the long haul all those years ago. Not his father, not the neighborhood, not Ian's bipolar disorder… nothing had been enough to scare him off. Nothing. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but it never had been. Didn't mean it wasn't fuckin’ worth it. Ian was worth it.  _ They _ were worth it. Always had been.

Mickey was ready to fight for it again. He'd never stop.

\----------

Ian wasn't just nervous, he was freaking the fuck out. 

This day was really important. Like one of the most important days of his fuckin’ life, and it had to go well. He didn't know what he would do if it didn't go well. Ian fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. Should he tuck it in or leave it loose? 

He could practically hear Mickey laughing at him in his mind. He knew Mickey would tell him he was being ridiculous, that everything would be fine. But that didn't quell Ian's nerves. He had gotten so many things wrong in his life. So many. He needed to get this one right. He looked at his watch.  _ Gotta get out of here if I'm going to be on time. _

Ian grabbed his keys and his wallet, shoving the latter in the back pocket of his jeans. He looked around until he spotted his cell phone on the kitchen counter. He grabbed that too, shooting off a quick message.

_ I: On my way, see you in a few _

He locked his apartment and made his way downstairs. Ian got into his car and lit a cigarette, rolling down a few of the windows to not let the car totally stink up. He smoked quickly, his car ride not more than a few minutes. He pulled up in front and parked, checking his reflection in the rearview mirror one last time before getting out and locking the car. Ian walked down the sidewalk to his destination and knocked on the door.

She opened it and appraised him. He stood still, waiting for her reaction. She took her time, finally giving him a smirk. She liked to make him uncomfortable. But she stepped aside and let him in. 

When he was finally there, he saw Mickey and he smiled. Ian's heart was infinitely more at ease when he saw the way Mickey looked at him, smiled at him. 

Mickey called out, “Hey get in here, wanna introduce you to someone.”

He heard footsteps and Yevgeny emerged from his bedroom. Ian inhaled sharply, overcome by his first good look at Yevgeny in over six years. He was so beautiful, a small version of his father, eyes equally as blue. Ian was overcome. So much wasted time. He was determined to make up for it. He smiled hard, not wanting to crack in this moment.

Mickey crouched down to his son's level, speaking to him. “Wanted to introduce you to someone real important to me. He's going to be a big part of my life, and yours too if you'll let him.”

He looked up and smiled brightly. “This is Ian.”

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [technotrousers](http://technotrousers.tumblr.com) for the beta work, [loftec](http://loftec.tumblr.com) for the art and [lanjev](http://lanjev.tumblr.com) for the patience, advice and support!
> 
> You can find me [here](http://grumblesandmumbles.tumblr.com).


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